Ownership, sharing and monogamy

Richard has discussed in an earlier post his interest in MMF threesomes, and his decision NOT to pursue them in our relationship. His decision was based on my very clear, very loud concerns about them (basically having to do with the potential physical and emotional dangers of bringing another man into the relationship), which led him to feel that it would be psychologically harmful to me to pursue them.

Mia, who posts here sometimes and has a great blog “What We Did Last Night”, posted about a MMF threesome she had recently. I loved her post and it helped me to understand what Richard meant when he talked about what turned him on about them: the woman’s over-stimulation and loss of self-control.

And for him, it is the ultimate sign of ownership, to share what is yours with another.
Amy – owned by Richard
I have always been monogamous. I think maybe I fall in love with anyone I fuck. I actually read something recently that supported that idea; oxytocin levels rise after fucking, oxytocin is a “bonding” hormone (grossly oversimplified), I figure I probably have the world’s highest naturally occurring levels of oxytocin. I am so completely focused on Richard that it is hard to imagine being attracted to another man, much less fucking him! And fucking him while Richard watches! Or joins in! Ack!

However, I’ve been thinking about threesomes a lot lately, because I know how erotic Richard finds them. I think maybe they are his biggest turn-on. I wonder if maybe I feel secure enough in our relationship to try this. It scares me, but maybe being scared can be part of the eroticism, like it is with being blindfolded or handcuffed. I really don’t know.

Richard says that every fantasy he has acted out/lived has turned out much better than he expected. I’ve always felt that fantasies are just that, and don’t need to be lived to be enjoyed. But now I’m living a life that I didn’t even know enough to fantasize about, and it’s WONDERFUL. So maybe this would be the same.

After we had been talking online for about a month, Richard sent me the following short-short story. (I had to dig and dig through my email to find it. I LOVE reading our old emails. The yearning!) I found the story very hot, but didn’t seriously consider it as something that could or would ever happen. I still find it hot…

Answering Richard’s call, Amy entered the room.

A man she didn’t recognize stood talking to Richard.

“Stand here,” Richard said. Then to the man, “show me what you meant.”

Amy, barefoot in a delicate t-shirt and sarong, waited as the stranger deftly untied the sarong, letting it drop to the floor.

Naked from the waist down, Amy stood shyly as the man used her lower body to illustrate some complex tattoo he had once seen, turning Amy around once to show exactly how it had risen over someone’s buttocks.

The demonstration over, Amy waited quietly.

“Beautiful woman,” said the man, almost as an afterthought.

“Yes she is,” answered Richard. “Listen, why don’t you stay for dinner?” With a nod indicating Amy, “We can sit up later with whiskey, and take turns fucking her by the fire.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Richard turned to Amy.

“One more for dinner.”

Star Trek and BDSM

Did I getcha with the title? No, I’m not talking about James Kirk as submissive male.

Several years ago I saw an episode of Star Trek, Next Generation that stuck in my mind. At the time, I didn’t realize why it had such an impact on me, but after I discovered BDSM and in particular D/s I understood. We had a scorching hot discussion after I first told Richard about it, on IM. I think it helped him understand me better, in those pre-meeting days. I remember not being able to sleep that night because I was so turned on. Recently I Netflixed it so that I could show him. It’s not sexy per se, but the implications of it are very sexy to me.

The episode is titled “The Perfect Mate”. Briefly, the Enterprise is hosting a meeting of rapprochement between two worlds. The ambassador from one world, who is picked up first, brings a precious gift for Alrik, the leader of the other world: a woman. Kamala is an empathic metamorph; a very rare mutant who has the ability to sense what men desire and mold herself to their wishes and interests. Empathic metamorphs imprint on and become the ideal mate of one man.

On the way to pick up Alrik, Kamala is accidentally brought out of stasis (blasted Ferengi!). This moves forward her development so that she is in a stage in which she is sending off strong sexual signals to all men. After a few incidents, she decides to remain in her quarters. Jean-Luc, tough guy that he is, tries to stay away from her although he is fascinated by her as well. However, they are thrown together to work on the ceremony of reconciliation and the attraction is intense. She’s smart, strong and intuitive – everything he finds most attractive in a woman (naturally).

Jean-Luc manages to keep her at arm’s length, but only just, and they pick up Alrik. When Jean-Luc goes to Kamala’s room to bring her to the wedding ceremony, she tells him that she has completed her development prematurely and has imprinted on him, rather than on Alrik. However, her strong sense of duty (in part due to her upbringing, but also due to becoming Jean-Luc’s ideal woman) means that she will marry Alrik, to maintain peace between the worlds. She will not reveal to anyone that she has already imprinted, and points out that she is still empathic, so she will still be able to make him happy.

The worst part: Jean-Luc has met Alrik, who is a homely, superficial twit unworthy of Kamala. Nevertheless, he acts as best man at the wedding and hands over his perfect mate to a lesser man.

*sob*

When Richard and I first began to spend time together online, we were flirtatious but also pretty cool. We were trying to be cautious. So we talked about kink more intellectually than emotionally and we talked about a lot of other things too (as we continue to do). However, Richard gradually moved to claim me and to exert control over me, and our relationship became closer to what it is now.

During one IM, I said “I am for you, Richard” and he asked what I meant. I hadn’t thought of it when I said it, but I remembered that this was what Kamala said when she came out of stasis, thinking that Jean-Luc was Alrik: “I am for you Alrik”. That was eye-opening. As we discussed it, I began to understand what it was I wanted in a relationship and what I wanted to be.

I want to be owned. By one man.

I want to be completely his.

I want to be what he wants me to be, in all ways.

I want that man to be worthy of me, and to bring out the best in me.

I want to be cherished for this, to be seen as a rare and precious gift.

And I am.

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.

Should you call your girlfriend cunt?

Amy told me, the other night while we were cuddling in bed, that she doesn’t like it when I call her cunt when I am fucking her.

WTF?

She was hoping I’d call her something more romantic, like “Sweetie,” or “Angel,” or some such name.

Now, keep in mind I don’t call her “a cunt.” No, she is “Cunt,” an entirely different creature altogether.

bdsmcouple-amy-pussy
She has since claimed to be teasing me, but what am I to guess from this? I know the humiliation I make her feel sometimes through word and action is very hot, for both of us. So, does she really not like being Cunt, or is this a ploy to make me think she really doesn’t like it, and therefore I’ll use it more, heightening the humiliation factor.

Amy doesn’t play mental games.

She does tease, though.

I just think she doesn’t like being Cunt.

Amy is easily the smartest person I know. I have shifted to a new technique when debating topics with her. Namely, don’t pick any position, because Amy will outflank and outmaneuver any logical position with my old nemesis, accurate facts. I hate accurate facts. And she seems to know them all.

Amy reminds me of a Vulcan. All brains and thinky thinky until pon farr hits, and then she’s an excited mass of sexual passion. Seriously, Amy is very intelligent and articulate, but during sex, when she has been properly aroused, she speaks, but the sounds don’t form proper words. All she can say that you understand is “no,” and “please.”

To me, she has become thoroughly female. Completely, 100% cunt.

And what other word could I use? Vagina? Pussy?

No.

I remember running across the word “queynte,” in my old Chaucer reading days. A form of “cunt,” and also meaning knowledge, or cunning if you like. The word “cunt” seems to have been formed from the feminine syllable “co,” pronounced “coo.” Long recognized as a feminine syllabel, you see it today even in phrases like “hootchie-coo,” for example.

While nothing is certain, it is put forward by some that the word evolved through numerous usages, possibly through the Latin “cunae,” which you will recognize as related to “cuneform,” and is seen in the word ” cunnus,” Latin for “vagina.”

The final syllable is often linked to Scandanavian usages of the word meaning “wife,” or “woman” or related meaning such as “kone,” “kut,” “kuton,” “kunta,” and “kutte.”

The Dutch are given credit, ultimately, for the addition of the “t” to the word, and their influence seemed to have been what resulted in the final shape of the word. To run the risk of over-simplification, the “cu” seems to have evolved from the Proto-Indo-European language, the “n” from the Latin, and the “t” from the Dutch, to find a final amalgamation in the word “cunt,”

It’s first recorded in England as a street name in various redlight districts of cities such as London and Oxford, which had streets named “Gropecuntlane.”

Cunt.

A fine word, with a distinguished pedigree, but currently in disfavor, and out of polite usage.

I, however, am not so polite.

When I am fucking her…

Amy is Cunt.

How to get her pregnant

Sex with Amy is a continuum; I’m not always sure when one episode starts and another ends.

Maybe the aggression wipes out short term memory.

As much as I like the Daddy/little girl dynamic, I don’t necessarily think of Amy as a little girl.

I think you can see why.

bdsmcouple-amy-sideboob

Amy and I were lying in bed yesterday around 6:30, just talking and waking
up, when I noticed how beautiful the light on the wall was.

I had her stand against the wall, and shot a few dozen pictures.

This is one.

I think of Amy as “Mine.” I expect her to submit, to obey, to be a good girl. I expect to use her and force her to do what I want.

A few days ago I wanted to fuck her, but I wanted her all tits and cunt. I turned her head to one side, and pressed a pillow over her face. I had her masturbate and cum like that, then I fucked her with the pillow over her face; all wriggling cunt and bouncing breasts. Lovely.

At some point, a day later, maybe more, it’s kinda blurry, I played with her, fucked her, made her masturbate and cum, but didn’t cum myself. I warned her that I’d use her later in the night, after I’d rested.

Didn’t happen.

I slept too soundly, and awoke early in the morning.

Amy lay beside me in a thin t-shirt, because she had felt chilled when she went to bed the night before.

We talked briefly, I don’t remember about what, but I do remember something about torturing her. I remember wanting to, anyway. Then I told her to open her legs, because I wanted to fuck her. As I moved onto her, I remember very clearly her nipples jiggling with her breasts under her shirt, and feeling offended that she had the t-shirt on st all, but also thinking “Fuck it, I don’t want your tits today anyway. This is for me, not you.”

Amy likes breast play, but no way I was giving her anything to work with. I wanted to use her, not make love to her. This was a fuck for me.

I entered her, and I remember being proud that she was wet enough to force my way into her pussy easily, and feeling proud that she was enough of a slut to always be ready to fuck, without foreplay, without warning.

Good girl.

I fucked her in silence, or so I thought. Amy told me the next day, when she dared bring up the previous day’s fuck, that I had been growling deep in my throat from time to time. The kinda growl she pays close attention too.

Could be. I was focused on other things.

I pulled her legs up, and held her thighs open with my biceps, while I had her put her arms down along her sides, where I grasped her wrists, essentially pinning her to the bed, unable to move her legs nor her arms.

Then I fucked her.

Often fucking is a below the waist thing, all hips and pelvic thrusts.

Not now. I full body fucked her, my weight unsupported by my arms, which were busy holding her legs apart and immobilizing her wrists. I drove into her with the force and weight of my full body, forgoing any pretense of making this pleasurable, or even comfortable for her.

This was my fuck.

I fucked her in a few different ways, always pinning her, immobilizing her, not letting her free.

Until I wanted her wetter.

Two ways work for making Amy even wetter. Have her suck my cock, and making her masturbate. I like making her suck my cock, especially when she chocks and almost vomits. I love hearing her gag when I thrust deep down her throat.

But I wanted to rest a moment, let her get wet, and then cum in her. So I told her to masturbate.

I’m not a cruel man. She’d been a good enough girl, compliant, obedient, if a little scared, so I told her “I’ll give you two minutes. If you can cum in two minutes, fine. Otherwise, you aren’t getting to cum.”

Amy begged to have longer, to be allowed to cum, but as I said before, this wasn’t her fuck. I’m giving her two minutes, then I’m finishing her off.

She started to masturbate.

I may have played with her tits through the t-shirt, I don’t remember. I remember reaching down to check her wetness, and deciding her little cunt was close to what I wanted, and that I was going to fuck her shortly.

I think she whimpered.

I didn’t feel very patient. I wanted to fuck the little slut NOW.

But.

I had promised two minutes.

I gave her two minutes.

I went to open her legs and climb between them, and she resisted. Or maybe she didn’t resist. Her legs were just stiff. Usually her legs open easily for me, especially when she’s scared of me, but this time she felt unusually rigid.

No problem. I forced her legs open firmly, and a part of my brain suddenly thought that she might be cumming at that instant, which would explain the rigidity of her body. I figured I might be wrecking her orgasm, interrupting it, but what the fuck. I gave the little cunt two minutes, and now I want her.

She told me the next day that she was indeed cumming, and that she was making little cumming noises. Whatever. I didn’t notice them. I wanted her cunt.

I thrust back into her again.

I fucked her, pinning her in some fashion, I’m not sure what now. But I remember her biting me, biting my shoulder repeatedly, maybe my arms and chest too, it’s hard to be clear. Amy fucks like a wild animal. A scared wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. She bites, she writhes, she moans, she claws- none of which she can remember after. I’ve been carrying bite marks and bruises since we met. I counted eleven distinct bruises one day, all in varying degrees of visibility.

She can bite all she wants. I’m all cock and violence, fucking her pinned pussy. It occurs to me, dimly, that she might already at this moment be pregnant.

I like the thought.

In another moment, in all the struggling and chaos of fucking her, forcing her, I empty into her.

I flood her with cum; with my sperm.

I feel primal. I want to see the cunt pregnant.

I want to make her belly swell.

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.