Re-inviting the sensual into my life

Before Richard, my life was very cerebral and above-the-neck. Not just in my work; also in the things I did in my off-hours and in my relationships with men. The only thing that felt full and complete in my life – body and mind and soul – was my relationship with my children.

I knew what my life was missing. I was raised in a tropical paradise by lazy, live in the moment, sensual parents. I grew up mostly naked and brown and happy. I spent my non-school time with a big group of family and extended family and friends, beaching and drinking and not doing much of anything at all.

Somehow when I went off to college I lost touch with that side of myself. It was as if, to grow my mind, I had to shut off my body. In graduate school, I even stopped reading poetry. Poetry had always been important to me, both reading it and writing it, but I was suddenly unable to appreciate it anymore – it felt silly and affected to me. Only recently have I begun to enjoy it again, and I’ve discoverd Rumi and Pablo Neruda, among others.

No complaints about my brain. It’s made a lot of money for me, created a nice life for me and my kids. I’m proud of it. But I’m more than a big brain, and the rest of me had been neglected for a long time.

Last year, I went looking for what was missing. It was a little more complicated than just re-inviting the sensual into my life. For one thing, I’d never known the grown-up side of sensual. For another, I was coming to terms with the reality that I was a sexually submissive woman. How did those things fit together? How could I find what I wanted and needed, when I wasn’t even sure what it was?

What I found was Richard. Richard is smart and analytical and intellectual and emotionally intelligent. He keeps pace with what he calls my “monkey brain”, he can match me in debate, he can parry when I tease or challenge, he can talk me through emotional minefields and sensitive social scenarios.

But he’s so much more than that.

He’s my man. He’s my mate. He’s my master.

Sometimes I wake at night to feel an arm snaking over my hip. It wraps around my belly and pulls me hard against him. I feel his chest on my back, thigh against thigh. I feel him nuzzle my neck, I hear him growl “mine” quietly. I know he means it. This isn’t a sexy game. I am his.

When I come back from the office in the early afternoon, we slip on our swimsuits and head for the pool. We slide into the water, leaving our arms propped on the deck, and bake in the sun like lizards. We talk desultorily – what he did, what I did, what the real estate market is doing, politics, philosophy, what photoshoot we’d like to do next, how great our last fuck was. I’ll turn my head, eyes half open, and see that Richard has disappeared underwater. He’ll surface with a big grin on his face – either to tell me about some silly pool game he played as a kid, or that he was looking at my breasts underwater and liked how they bounced around.

Sometimes he’ll swim underwater the length of the pool and then turn toward me. Suddenly his face will light up, and I know he’s going to “hunt” me. Nothing is as gleeful as Richard on the hunt. He’ll begin moving toward me, not taking his eyes off my face, watching for the sign that I’m about to bolt. I’ll try to stay put, try to tell myself that he’s just being goofy. But I always spook eventually.

I’m a strong swimmer, but there’s nowhere to go. It’s a small pool and before I can get far enough away to pull myself out, he’s on me. He’ll grab my leg and pull me toward him, chuckling under his breath, then pull me close and slip a hand under my suit, cupping a breast or an ass cheek or my pussy. I have to remind him that people can see us, and he always releases me reluctantly.

I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know if I’m doing a good job. I may have to try again another time.

Here’s how it is: Richard is my mate in a way that I didn’t know about before. I love him like an animal. I need him in a primal way. I physically ache for him when we are separate.

He is mine. Mine.

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She wanted to get fucked so bad

Minor surgery last week left me in the unusual situation where I am not supposed to have sex for at least two weeks. No sex, and preferably, no orgasms.

Preferably according to the doctor, that is.

Amy suggested that she not cum over the next two weeks as well, to share what I am going through.

No.

At first, it sounded like a nice experiment in orgasm denial for both of us, but I like making Amy cum. So she doesn’t want to this week, but I have the delicious pleasure of making her cum when she is objecting to it. Well, objecting to a point. Once I play with her nipples long and hard enough, she’s not sentient enough to form a coherent objection any more, unless you count the word “No.”

Which I don’t.

I woke her up sometime Sunday night, and played with her until she came. No surprise there, but since I hadn’t cum I just let her sleep a few hours, then woke her again. This time she woke up kind of cranky, wanting to sleep and thinking that since I couldn’t fuck her anyway, why was I bothering?

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Whatever.

I used her for a long time that second time, finally letting her cum and she fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted in my arms.

Naturally, I wanted very much to fuck her, but without that option, I simply enjoyed my control over her, and the satisfaction of her wild and sexually helpless under my touch. I knew she wanted to fuck, so I hand fucked her, which worked well enough as a substitute, but only just.

Later that morning, after we were up on the couch some time after breakfast, she cuddled under a blanket to ward off the chill in the house, and began talking about how she liked having a smooth pussy, just freshly epilated.

We talked about her pussy for a while, with Amy playing with it a little, until she began masturbating with me watching.

Wonderful.

I began to consider just how many orgasms Amy could have in a day, not counting the multiple smaller ones she often has. These were the big ones, stunning tremors that leave her speechless and shuddering, sweat slicked and exhausted as I touch and hold her afterwards.

We went upstairs later, and began to play again. Amy whimpered and begged for me not to make her play anymore, withh the usual effect.

This time her orgasm triggered a migraine, which took some care and time to alleviate, and combined with another unforseen circumstance, ended our play for the day. But there seemed to be no sign that she couldn’t cum again, and every time I begin to tweak her nipples she begins to writhe and moan. I’m starting to think she has an infinite resevoir of orgasms, which could explain why she’s always ready to fuck, a trait that I enjoy immensely. This is the first time I’ve made her cum four times in a day; it won’t be the last. I’m not worried about number crunching, but if she can cum more often than I had realized, I want to explore just how extreme I can get with controlling her sexual pleasures.

We haven’t fucked all week, and previously we haven’t gone more thqan 24 hours without fucking, and rarely more than 6 to 8 hours, so this circumstance is very brand new for us. This morning Amy was stroking and holding my cock, whining a little because she wanted to be fucked so bad, and it’s still a week away before I can sink it into her pussy once again.

Well, sort of.

I can’t fuck her hard, not right now.

But I see no problem in slipping my hard cock into her, and tonight I plan to force her lovely mouth down over my cock for some delicate face fucking, as much as I can take anyway, because I am still sensitive from the surgery.

Would have been a perfect week for making her fuck someone else.

It’s certainly been a good week for making her cum against her will, with my hands teasing her nipples, pussy and ass into a state where she suddenly can’t resist her own sexual needs. And cums. And cums again.

And while I won’t yet be cumming in her pretty body any time soon, I’ll still be able to enjoy watching her helpless and in the throes of her own orgasm.

Very, very satisfying.

I hate being called a slut and I love being called a slut

I fell asleep early because I took an antihistamine for my allergies. I woke up slowly, feeling my breasts being handled from behind, first gently, then building up to rough pulling and tugging. I think my own moaning may have woken me. I could feel his cock hard against my ass and as I became more conscious I wondered if I was going to get my ass fucked.

I’ve only been ass-fucked twice now; I’m practically still an anal virgin. He’s very experienced, thank goodness, because I was really nervous about it. It was awesome. I think I should ask him to post some pointers here, because a couple times in the past someone has attempted to ass-fuck me and it hurt like hell and I put an immediate stop to it. He would be doing the world a favor, at least that part of the world that would like to take an ass for a spin, to share some tips.

I didn’t get my ass fucked. I can tell it’s gonna happen again soon, though, because he’s getting more and more focused on that…region. Even after two completely untraumatic, very hawt ass-fuckings, I’m still trepidatious about it. Instead, I got flipped onto my back and my thighs shoved apart with his knee. It took two or three times for his cock to ram completely into me and then sweet jesus. I started rocking my hips in rhythm with him, then grabbed his back and bit down hard on his shoulder. I was moaning and scratching and biting and bucking and after what felt like hours I had worn myself out. (I’m generally worn out from almost four weeks of three-times-a-day fucking minimum.) He slowed down too, and we fell back asleep.

I was woken up AGAIN about an hour later. This time I couldn’t completely wake up. It felt great, but I could barely move from being tired and achy. It makes him hot when I’m somewhat unwilling but yield to him, so my lack of response didn’t bother him at all. He whispered in my ear that I could just lay there, it was okay, but he was going to fuck me and cum in me anyway. And he did. And we fell asleep again.

And a couple hours later, I was woken up AGAIN. He was rock hard and playing with me. Jesus, this guy is in his forties. He must have been *terrifying* when he was younger. My breasts are very…sensitive isn’t the right word, because I like intense handling. I guess they’re responsive.

Anyway, he was playing with my breasts in exactly the right way to make me crazy, and I was thrashing around on the bed. Then he told me to masturbate while he played with them. He was talking to me the whole time, telling me how much he loved my breasts, and what a slut I was, and how I needed to cum for him. I hate being called a slut, and I love being called a slut, and him telling me I had to cum pushed me right over the edge and I exploded into the mother of all orgasms. He immediately pushed into me and started fucking me while I was still feeling aftershocks from cumming.

(I want to add here that I never even *talked* about masturbating when I was married, much less masturbated in front of someone, so this is all new and a bit intimidating for me.)

He fucked me for a while and I think we both must have eventually passed out from exhaustion, because we were woken by the alarm at 6 am and I could barely lift my arm to turn it off.

I’m a morning person but this morning it was really hard to get my motor revving. He made me coffee and helped me get dressed and now, at 10 am, I’m finally beginning to feel my brain stirring.

Tonight: kids are with their dad, so we’ll have a wilder time.