Consent and kink

I have read and seen a lot in the last year. I’ve talked before about how I didn’t even realize I was sexually submissive until a year ago, and didn’t know that my fantasies could be more than fantasies, that some people lived their lives this way. This has taken a lot of adjusting, in thinking and behavior, and I still regularly feel the challenge of integrating this aspect of myself into my life. It has also been incredibly freeing. I’m stunned by the energy and creativity that has been released by opening my whole mind to who I really am. I am so, so happy.

I am, as I would guess many previously vanilla people are, more accepting of other people’s kinks than I was of my own. I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. Is anyone getting hurt? If all involved are happy, then all is good. (OK, maybe somebody got hurt, but some people LIKE to get hurt. ; ))

I used to snicker a bit when I read about, for example, spanking or role play. Now I think it’s hot.

I used to feel quizzical about e.g. submissive men. Now I feel… a kinship I guess. And I think it must be harder in our society to be them than to be me (and it’s harder on all of us kinksters than it is to be gay, in general), so I have some sympathy too.

There are some things that personally squick me – the example that always comes to mind is scat play, and diaper play/infantilism/incest play is only a little easier for me to read about.

Last weekend I saw my first plushies/furries. I was happy that Richard was there to explain about them. He is so open and non-judgmental. It’s easy to laugh about their kink, but why is theirs any odder than wanting to spank or be spanked?

To repeat: I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. YKINMKBYKIOK: Your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay, as some people put it.

So. I was reading a blog today (I’m not going to link to it, because I think she’s suffering from the negative attention already and I hate to see that). In it, a sub described her Master requiring her to put syrup on her pussy, to get the family dog to lick her. She explained that he had made her do this once before, and it had upset her so much that she cried for hours and couldn’t eat for days. That seems all kinds of wrong to me – why would a Master want to hurt his property that badly? why would you want a Master that hurt you that badly? – BUT that part of it (His and her choices) falls under the YKINMKBYKIOK rule to me.

The part that was really disturbing for me was the lack of consent from the dog. Here’s why: one of the cornerstones of responsible BDSM is consent. Otherwise you’re moving into abuse and criminal behavior, yes?

This is why the idea of “consensual non-consent” has been so carefully spelled out by the BDSM community. Basically, you can consent to give away your right to consent, either short-term for a play session or long-term as in the case of a slave. Slaves of course always have the right to take away their consent and be released from their slavery.

In my case, I have agreed that Richard has complete control over me; a “no” from me would be a “no” to the relationship. But if Richard told me to jump off a building, or to hurt my children, or to have sex with an animal, I would say “no”, recognizing the enormity of the “no” that I said.

Our morality and our laws recognize that some individuals and some creatures are not capable of consent. Animals fall into this category, children too, and brain damaged and severely mentally disabled people do too.

You may have heard of people who sexually molest infants. (Richard made me take out the details here.) Even if the child never remembers the event, most of us are horrified that someone would do this. Why? I would argue that it is because infants do not have the ability to choose to consent or not, and we therefore believe that they are off-limits for sexual play.

In a similar vein, there are occasional newspaper reports of caretakers of brain damaged or mentally disabled patients who have been caught having sexual relations with their charges. Even if the patients will never remember the event, most of us would say this is reprehensible behavior. I think it’s because we see a responsibility to those who are not able to choose to consent.

Animals are a greyer area for most people, although not for all. After all, we kill some of them for food. With dogs specifically, many people cut off their tails or parts of their ears. Other people kick or hit their dogs. Others leave them chained outside for days, even though dogs are extremely social creatures and crave interaction. Is having a dog lick your pussy really such a terrrible thing?

Oral sex is sex, in spite of what Bill Clinton might say. Having a dog lick your pussy is having sex with a dog. I actually called a (kinky) friend who is an animal control officer and asked her if this is illegal.

“Yeah it’s illegal. It’s called b*stiality.”

“So you would go get the dog?”

“Oh no. The police deal with this one. They go get the owners.”

The legality or illegality of the act is not my main concern, although I’m concerned that the blogger could run into trouble if anyone recognizes her online. My friend told me that they’ve prosecuted several cases like this over the last few years.

My main concern, the thing that upset me, is that the dog, just like an infant or a brain-damaged person, is not capable of saying yes or no. We are the caretakers of our pets, as we are of our children. It seems like a dereliction of our responsibility to involve our charges in any kind of sexual play, because they rely on us to make choices for them and to protect them.

I feel a lot better after writing about this. I actually cried when I talked to Richard about it. It seems like, when I respond very emotionally to something (versus just an “ewwww I would NEVER do that!”) it is worth exploring and discussing. In this case, it has really helped bring home to me how strongly I feel about NOT involving individuals (people or animals) in your kink that have not consented or can not consent. I’m really interested to hear what other people think about this.

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Photographers and their women

I’m lying in bed next to Richard right now. We both have laptops and when I look across at his, there are photos on it, of beautiful women. Gorgeous photos. Photos Richard took.

 

He took them several years ago, and they were lost during a past break-up, and he has re-discovered them.

I am so, so thrilled that he has found them. He is a great photographer, and this was clearly a huge loss to him.

I am also a little intimidated by them, or threatened, I don’t know. The first one he found, wow that was hard to see, because his hand was in it, touching her belly. Not in a sexual way (heck, she was fully clothed even), more in the way you touch something you own.

 

I am the first woman that Richard has owned. He is my first (and last of course) owner. He’s the first man I’ve called Daddy (well, except I guess my father lol) and I’m the first woman he’s called “little girl”. Every day with Richard is a first for me. So that means a) I don’t have anything to feel threatened about in re these old photos, and b) it’s kinda understandable that I do find them a little threatening.

Anyway.

Yesterday morning, after an amaaaaazing early morning session (are you noticing a trend? early morning? this morning too!), I got a bit insecure. I’m still coming to terms with my submissiveness. Or not, depending on the day.

Ever since I started calling Richard Daddy, I’ve been feeling more and more submissive. Mostly I love it, but sometimes I start to fret about it. Yesterday, I wanted to know if it was “real” or…or what? I wasn’t sure. After we talked for a while, I realized that there were two different things that were worrying me.

The first was, I needed to know whether Richard likes being called Daddy as much as I like calling him Daddy. I really really really didn’t want this to be something he was doing to humor me or make me happy. I’ve said before that one of the most wonderful things about a D/s relationship to me is that I don’t have to worry, as I usually would, whether or not Richard is doing what he wants and enjoying himself. This kind of worrying really interfered with me enjoying myself in past vanilla relationships.

He assured me that he loves it as much as I do. We’ve both posted about this before, so I won’t spend more time on it here. But I’m probably going to need reassurance on this semi-regularly.

The second thing that was worrying me was, are we just playing a silly mind-game? Just pretending that he owns me and I submit to him, to make ourselves hot? I’m not sure how to say this in a way that makes sense, but I guess part of me was wondering if we were going to wake up one day and say “What the heck were we doing? Let’s get real now.” Or worse, that just one of us would say that and the other would be up a creek…

Richard says that he’s known who he is for a really long time. I haven’t; I’ve had a lifetime of thinking that I was a plain, boring, vanilla woman. Richard sees me as an exciting, intensely sexual, submissive wanton. I’m glad he sees me that way, but I’m still a ways from seeing myself that way. He says I’m still adjusting to my new understanding of myself. I guess I am. Bottom line, though, is that he’s not going to change who he is and NO WAY am I going back to vanility (rhymes with banality) (vanilla-land? vanilla-hood?)

So that was my crisis of confidence. I don’t feel like I’ve explained it very well. Maybe I’ll do a better job during my next crisis, since I KNOW there will be one.

Oh! And just so you don’t think I’m done being a tease…tonight! we’re going! to a BDSM club! Woooooohooooo!

Second thoughts about submission

As I said in my last post, my fears about Richard’s increasing aggressiveness were justified. Before we went to bed, he put me into leg chains for the night, “so I wouldn’t get away”. He woke me in the middle of the night as he unclipped one of my leg cuffs, then pushed my legs apart and entered me. I could tell from how wet I was that he had been playing with me while I slept.

I moaned, and he slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up. Just fuck.”

I did what I was told. I could tell he was feeling very aggressive. Not good to argue with him at such times.

He fucked me for a while, moving his hands from my mouth, to my throat, to my breasts, and back again. Then he pulled out and shoved his cock in my mouth. His very hard, very large cock. I choked and he just pushed in deeper. Bastard.

He face-fucked me while I drooled and gasped and choked, and then he flipped me onto my belly, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air. He kicked my legs apart and began to slam-fuck me. I could hear the leg chains, still attached to my right leg, rattle as he fucked me.

He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his wrist and suddenly stopped, deep inside me.

“Where’s your collar?” he growled.

“Um. I don’t know. In the drawer?”

“Get it.” He pushed off me.

I jumped out of bed and starting digging through the dresser drawer in which my collar usually resides.

“It’s not here.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look in the bedside table.”

It wasn’t there. I could almost hear his annoyance.

“I just remembered! It’s in the bathroom.” I ran and got it.

He put it on, roughly yanking it closed. “What kind of slave doesn’t know where her collar is?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” (meekly)

Then he fucked me some more, and he was NOT gentle. When he was done, he put the second leg cuff on himself and said “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

But he didn’t cum, so I knew I was in for it. I behaved like a saint all day yesterday, “Yes sir” and “No sir” about everything. When he said “Jump” I said “How high?” (Not really, my father used to say that lol.) We did a photoshoot, OUTSIDE with me NAKED, and I DID NOT COMPLAIN ONCE. I definitely earned the title “Good Girl” yesterday.

Jeez, I’ve done it again. I haven’t gotten to the part in the title, but I really have to do some work now. More later. Promise.

Who’s your daddy?

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
…I got a bad desire
…I’m on fire
 – Bruce Springsteen

I’ve always loved the menace of those lines. And I love the way it showcases the Daddy/little girl dynamic that Amy has posted about.

She and I have been finding our own way through an unusual relationship, one that isn’t part of the mainstream, and yet in so many ways sits squarely astride classic Middle America values. There are days when I’m Ricky Fucking Ricardo bending Lucy over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking.

bdsmcouple-amy-spanked-spanking

Seriously, how far back does the image of the husband commanding his wife go back? And yet, it’s not exactly who we are.

Amy doesn’t need discipline.

So we aren’t exactly Ricky and Lucy.

And do we need to define ourselves at all?

Will the thought police show up and drag me off as a perv if I call her “baby”, and if she calls me her “stallion,” will they round her up as a potential horse fucker?

Daddy/Little Girl.

It’s a dynamic, not literal.

Amy posted about how Master/slave didn’t capture the dynamic; nor did owner/owned. Neither does husband/wife.

Amy has two other nicknames for me – “The Boss,” and “The Bad Man.” On a good day, maybe “The Bad, Bad, Baaaaaad Man.”

But our relationship involves a more nurturing role for me. And Amy is not a pain slut who craves constant discipline. Amy is eager to be a very good girl. Disobedience is simply out of the question for her.

So.

What kind of relationship has a woman very eager to obey her partner, without question, and have him make the decisions and care for her needs?

For us, it’s a Daddy/girl dynamic.

It’s the most accurate descriptor for how the two of us interact.

In some ways it feels VERY vanilla. I mean, it’s a common theme in mainstream culture, from music to books to sugar daddies and typical flirtation between couples. For me, I grew up in an arch-conservative evangelical Protestant religion. We had an elderly couple in our church, pillars as it were – easily the most influential couple in our little community. He was on the church board, an elder, etc., and his wife, a white haired beehive fashion plate, led out almost weekly in some part of the service, and often referred to her husband.

She called him “Daddy.”

On formal occasions, she would add his last name after the word “Daddy.”

Maybe they were kinksters.

I think of the deep south. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Big Daddy. I see the Daddy/little girl dynamic almost everywhere – it appears to be timeless.

That will reassure Amy. She’s still convinced she’s vanilla.

But for now, who’s your Daddy?

Amy, I’m your Daddy.

How to be daddy’s little girl

This is a hard post to write. It’s taken me several months to become comfortable with being sexually submissive. I’ve written about how I’ve wrestled with the term “slave”, as well as the reality of being one.

This is harder. I’m afraid I’m going to squick some of you out. I could squick myself out if I’m not careful.

Richard has forced me, over the last few months, to face who I am, to look into the dark parts of myself and, rather than run and hide, to look harder. This doesn’t come naturally to me, and it has been scary. But, as I said to the silent male, it is incredible how easy everything is once you open up to who you really are, instead of trying to hide it or ignore it. So here goes the next step in that evolution.

Richard and I have talked about how the Master/slave dynamic doesn’t feel 100% right to us, nor does “owner/owned”. One of my problems is that I feel much more nurtured by Richard than those terms seem to imply. I feel like I have a more exclusive and intimate relationship with him than a slave would have with her Master. After all, a Master could have several slaves, yes?

Richard has called me “girl” since he’s known me. Recently he’s been calling me “little girl” and even “baby girl”. I LOVE it when he calls me that. It feels so completely right. It says to me: he’s in control and he will take care of me. All I need to do is be a good girl and do what I’m told. Heaven.

I told him that I wished there was a good word for who he is for me.

He said “What about Daddy?”

I said I felt funny using that word. Wouldn’t that mean I had serious unresolved issues with my own father? Wouldn’t that mean I was a screwed up freak? He didn’t think so.

I tiptoed around the word. I tested it out a couple of times during sex, mumbling it into Richard’s shoulder as he fucked me. It felt weird. Not good.

I realized that calling Richard “Daddy” made me feel more vulnerable and more submissive than I was yet comfortable with. I couldn’t believe that he could still love me and be attracted to me if I were that submissive. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that, the more submissive I am, the happier Richard is. I guess I’ve been around men who’ve wanted to be dommed for most of my life.

hiddendirtysex-sexintheride-238x300-2

To put this in perspective: just a year ago, I learned that many men like women to shave their pussies (yes, I’ve been living in a closet). I thought that men who like this must be closet pedophiles, since young girls have bare pussies. Uh, no. Richard, at least, loves anything that lets him see more of me (remind me to tell you about my new micro bikini. Gulp.)

So what to do about this issue of what to call Richard? I’ve been calling him “Sir” when he gives me an order, Richard in front of others, and basically avoiding the issue.

Richard doesn’t like to avoid issues. Richard doesn’t like for me to avoid issues.

A few days ago, I woke up to him playing with my breasts. When he saw that I was awake he began talking to me.

“Daddy’s girl has beautiful breasts.”

I moaned and tried to pull away. He clamped down on my nipples and pulled me back against him.

“Be a good girl. Daddy wants to play with your breasts.”

He wrapped one arm tight around my waist so I couldn’t move and roughly tugged and pulled and pinched my nipples. I struggled weakly, but I was still groggy and he had a strong grip on me.

“Does that feel good? Tell Daddy how it feels.”

Oh god. It felt incredible. It felt so good, and I was still so groggy, that I wasn’t capable of answering. He kept playing with me and talking to me and when he flipped me onto my back and entered me a few minutes later, I was so wet it startled him.

“Oooooh, Daddy’s girl wants to fuck, doesn’t she? Are you a slut, little girl?”

Gah.

Afterwards, we talked about it. He had decided to push me on this, because he could sense that I had a lot of feelings around it. It turned us both on. A lot.

Today when he was fucking me, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to call him “Sir” anymore, only “Daddy”.

I’ve been calling him “Daddy” all day. It feels really hot. And really right.

How to make her cum really hard

I want to quote part of a comment we received on the “How I became a dominant  man” post.

“I hope that you share some details of how the conversation goes, I find what you both share to be intelligent, caring and informative… This is such a real-life relationship and we appreciate your opening yourselves up the way you both do.”
Jdslove

Amy didn’t like the idea of being disposable.

She thinks it is hot.

She doesn’t like it.

Fair enough.

We talked.

I tried to explain the feeling, the idea that I could afford to not take an opportunity to fuck her, for example, because I own her, and I have all the opportunities I could possibly want to fuck her.

She began to compare it to a woman in a singles bar, who doesn’t need to take every offer for sex, because she can have sex whenever she wants. Amy said when she goes to a bar, the last thing she thinks about is getting sex. Which of course the one thing many guys are totally focused on when they go to a bar (or anywhere).

So she began to understand the idea of passing up sex, because you can have it anytime you want.

But she doesn’t want to be taken for granted.

And she talked about being insecure.

We laughed a bit about this.

What does she need to be secure? We just got married, we are working on having a baby…we talked about a host of things that she could think about to make herself feel secure.

Now, Amy is a logical woman. She knows all this. But emotionally?

I think we lost some little bit of connection this past two weeks with some heavy workloads and family cares. Plus the vasectomy reversal surgery sent our sex life and physical connection into an unusual sort of limbo. And when you lose that connection, the first place it shows up is in insecurity. I doubt it would have shown up as insecurity at all, if not for events in our respective pasts.

We have discussed the ways in which we could have held more easily to our connection. I will be firmer with my direction of Amy when telling her what I want. I tend to be too polite, which can fog my true desires. I haven’t been physically aggressive with her as well – hey I’ve got stitches on my balls! I think we both need the rough play, we are used to it with each other, and when it was suddenly cut out we weren’t prepared for the loss of emotional intensity it engendered.

Insecurity comes and goes. We have been together a short time, physically. Three months. Longer online, but physically together, it’s been a short time and we are still learning about each other, and understanding our needs.

I understand Amy’s better now.

She understands mine better.

The only thing I didn’t like about her post was the “Meet the new Boss – same as the old Boss,” theme.

I’m not like her old Boss. I’m not like anyone she’s ever known. It pissed me off to read it, but I know she knows better.

Insecure or secure, happy or unhappy; I own her ass. And every other fucking inch of her.

Whatever problems we have, we settle between us. We talk. We face it. No retreat.

Nobody’s going anywhere.

No apologies either. I don’t want her feeling bad about being emotional.

I’m fucking emotional.

Amy has to be as utterly Amy as possible. I want to know what she loves, what she hates, what she she hungers for, what makes her shudder. It doesn’t matter a fuck if I don’t like what I hear. I want the real Amy.

I want to love the parts that even Amy doesn’t love about herself.

We’ll continue to deal with insecurity, and whatever else we uncover. I’ll continue to use her, throw her on the bed, fuck her, make her cum, or not let her cum, hurt her, pleasure her, all the things I like doing to her. Including treating her like a disposable fuck.

It’s who I am.

One year in BDSM

Richard pointed out to me that our play or interactions in which he ignores me or uses and discards me may be “edge play” for me, given my past bad experiences of being neglected and taken for granted in relationships. Edge play, for the non-kinky people out there, is play that skirts dangerous ground, either physically or emotionally. So, for example, knife or needle play is considered edge play by most, although one person’s edge play is another’s yawnsville of course.

I think a part of me was hoping, once he pointed this out, that he would say “So I think it best that we no longer do that sort of thing.” But he didn’t.

And that got me thinking.

I started exploring BDSM online less than a year ago. Up until the time that Richard and I first met in real life, part of me thought that D/s would always only be a part of my fantasies, NOT my real life. If it became part of my life, as I’ve said before, I thought it would be in the bedroom as sexual play, not permeating my entire life. Not 24/7. Not Master/slave.

This year (24/7 D/s M/s) has been incredible. So erotic, so exciting, so thrilling. At the same time, life with Richard is so…easy. We get along so well, we’re so compatible. It’s a luscious combination of new relationship excitement and old relationship comfort.

I’m so spoilt! For the first time in my life, I’ve had as much attention and snuggling and affection and nurturing and fussing over as I could wish for. I’ve also been spanked more and slapped more and bitten and pinched more than ever in my life.

And ordered around! Constantly! But, hey, that’s still attention. And it appears that all attention is good attention for Amy.

I’m taking a long time to get to my point. Sorry.

Richard’s post “Disposable Girl” and the following discussion made me realize that (wait for it): it’s not all about me.

Not that I mostly think that, but at some level I have been loving all the attention and feeling very special and precious and adored and not facing the fact that: I am a slave and it’s not about me.

This is real. This is not role play. This is not acting out fantasies. I entered into a relationship in which one of the critical agreements is that I give up all control to Richard. All control.

Sure, I can always change my mind. But that would be monumental. Telling Richard I no longer wished to submit to him would be comparable to saying that I realized I am a lesbian. It would be more than becoming sexually incompatible, because this is about more than sex. This is about intimacy and this is also about how we “run” our lives.

You might say “Yes, but you don’t have to say you don’t want to submit *at all*. You could just say you didn’t want to submit to a particular thing.”

That would be the same thing. I agreed to submit to him completely. I can’t say “I submit to you completely…except for X”. That’s not submitting.

So. I don’t get to say “I don’t want to play *disposable girl*” anymore than I get to say “I don’t want to play *nasty-pinchy-clothespin-thingies*”. (Richard would be quick to point out that of course I can say that, it just won’t have any effect on what he chooses to do.)

Bottom line: I am still learning the reality of being a slave. I am still coming to terms with having handed over all power to Richard. It feels wonderful to have done, I trust him completely, I don’t regret it, but I’m still adjusting to it. Stay tuned.

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.

My torture fantasies

We’re in San Antonio for a couple of days. For business, but I booked us at the closest hotel to the city’s annual Fiesta. Fiesta, as far as I can tell, is a giant street party (hence the name), with food booths and lots of beer and margaritas, carnival rides, and great bands. The atmosphere is remarkably like Bourbon Street in New Orleans, where we were just a few weeks ago on business, except for a larger Latino presence and more kids running around.

Richard has talked about enjoying exhibitionist women, and I’ve talked about being about as far from an exhibitionist as a woman can be. I decided that while we were here, away from home, I would try to be a little more relaxed about how I look in public.

This morning, as we dressed to go out for breakfast, I pulled my collar from the suitcase. Richard didn’t know I had brought it. I asked him to put it on me and his face lit up.

I wore it to breakfast. I wore it to the Alamo. I wore it along the Riverwalk. I only took it off when he wanted to take a picture to send to his family.

(Who wants to have THAT discussion? “Richard, your new girlfriend – she’s wearing a dog collar.” “Yes, Mom, that’s right.” “It’s a nice dog collar, but why would she wear a dog collar, Richard?” “She likes wearing a dog collar, Mom.” “Richard, does she eat Alpo, too?” etc)

Richard was teasing me when we were walking along the Riverwalk. We were in front of a big group of people, and he suddenly grabbed me by the waist and pushed me up against the wall of the underpass and kissed me passionately. I could see all of the people staring at us as they passed, so of course I flushed bright red.

He had been saying that he was going to make me take off my panties and give them to him, and a little later he pulled me into an overgrown area and raised his eyebrows. I was so scared he was going to make me take them off! But then he just laughed and pulled me back onto the path.

After we’d been walking for a while, I went into a public bathroom (with permission, of course). When I came out, I slipped my panties into the back pocket of his jeans. He was thrilled.

Later, I wore a VERY lowcut, red wrap dress to dinner, with matching strappy sandals. Richard was appreciative, as were some of the locals when we walked around the Fiesta site after dinner.

 

So, I’m doing my best. And he knows I’m doing my best, although I know he’ll keep having me do more. This is challenging for me, but it’s worth it when I see how much he enjoys it. Plus I’m expecting payback tonight (as soon as I get this posted hehe).

And I was forewarned. When I was looking through old emails a few days ago, I found Richard’s reply to me, when I asked him what it was he wanted to do when we got together (two weeks before we met for the first time). He said:

I want to fuck you, to torture you, to strip you naked and display you to the world and say you are mine.

Fair warning.

I need a good spanking

The last week or so has been really hectic. Busy at work; even having to work the last couple of weekends. Lots of stuff going on socially. And we’ve had the kids for five days straight. Not much alone time, not much time for romance or D/s play.

Plus Richard has had severely congested ears for several weeks now. Not too painful, but he’s having a hard time hearing anything. (And don’t get me started on how much fun I’m getting out of, anytime he says he’s having trouble hearing, saying “What?” I trick him into repeating himself about half the time. Chortle.)

He finally decided to bite the bullet and take an antihistamine and decongestant, probably just to shut me up with the “what?” joke. So for the last few nights he’s been out like a light and he’s had trouble waking up in the morning.

bdsmcouple-amy-spanked-spanking

Which means…no bedtime fucking, no middle-of-the-night fucking, and severely reduced morning fucking. In fact, two mornings ago we were having GREAT sex, really getting into the groove, Richard had me pinned to the bed with one hand, my ass in the other and was fucking the lights out of me, when the ALARM RANG. Richard grabbed at it, fumbled and poked at several switches, and finally gave up with a sigh, pulled away from me and slammed it quiet.

I was kinda wishing I was the alarm clock. I kinda woulda liked to have been slammed quiet. If you know what I mean.

But I digress. I’m still getting fucked at least daily (notice I didn’t say anything about naps *smirk*). But, because we’re time constrained and tired and drugged (well, Richard is) and need to be quiet cuz of the midgets, we’re not doing a lot of D/s play.

I feel…unfocused. I don’t feel as submissive as I usually do, I don’t feel as controlled, I don’t feel as overwhelmingly focused on Richard. The rest of our life has grown up around us over the last week, and I don’t like it.

Remember I said I’m not a masochist?

Well, all day long I’ve been thinking about how NICE it would be if Richard were to get really stern with me and scold me for something I’ve done and then give me a long, hard spanking. Long enough and hard enough to make me cry. And then fuck me, while my red, hot ass was still throbbing from the spanking.