When I'm not feeling well, I am incredibly independent and a little non-submissive. There are times that I love having the company of a loved one, but I certainly do not want them telling me what to do to regain my health. Their presence and suggestions are greatly appreciated. I, however, will take my own temperature, I will sleep when I am tired, I will decide what I am going to eat, I will drink as much water as I see fit, I will lie in bed for as long as I like, and I will decide which medications I will take and which ones I will not. I don’t need help making these decisions. I’m really quite competent.
When I spent nearly an entire day in bed with a fever, I closely monitored my temperature and forced myself to drink at least two full glasses of water every three hours. Other than that, I laid next to Sean as he typed away on his laptop. I remember telling him that he was cute a few times in less than half an hour but his eyes never left the computer screen. He sat there in his suit and tie and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. “Why don’t you take your tie off?” I suggested.
“Why don’t you take some Tylenol?”
And so it began. He closed the lid of his laptop and the orders started flying out of his mouth: Drink more water. Eat something. Sit in a cool bath. Try to get some sleep. Take some meds. I smiled and politely told him that I was fine. I even took my own temperature right in front of him so that he could tell that I was taking good care of myself. “38.5°C,” I told him, reading right off the thermometer.
“Take some Tylenol to bring down your temperature.”
“My body is doing exactly what it needs to do,” I told him. “I’m not taking anything unless I know it will rise above 39°C.”
I smiled to myself when he left the room without arguing. I wasn’t in a very good mood and I fought the urge of telling him that he was a good boy for listening to me. I thought it’d be best to keep those thoughts to myself.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Brave
(I wrote this a little while ago. I wasn't going to publish it, but I have nothing better to post right now.)
The roads were incredibly icy and every single vehicle was moving at a turtle’s pace. It was clear that our morning commute would take at least an hour and I was glad that Sean insisted on taking me to work. Whenever there’s a traffic report announcing that the roads are slippery, he refuses to let me drive. So, I kicked off my shoes, loosened my seatbelt, and shifted around to get comfortable as he groaned and complained about the traffic. I made an innocent, throw-away suggestion that he should get seat covers that would vibrate and massage my back. I wasn’t alluding to anything sexual at all. I simply desired a little more comfort than the hard leather seats in his truck.
“Well, try masturbating without the vibration for now,” he said with a smirk. I scoffed at his comment as I quickly tried to clarify that that was not what I meant at all, but he just ignored my explanation. “Unbutton your pants and spread your legs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not asking you to get naked. Just pull down your jeans a couple inches.” I watched him for a minute, hoping that he’d start laughing and tell me that he was kidding. He stared straight ahead at the traffic and when we came to a complete stop, his eyes scanned my body. “I’m waiting.” His patience didn’t last long before his hand reached over and grasped the top of my jeans. I caved and pushed his fingers away and adjusted my pants myself. I thought it’d be less obvious to those in the vehicles around us. “Good girl. Now show me how you masturbate.”
I already felt so embarrassed that I couldn’t make eye contact with him. I debated the entire thing in my mind: This can’t be happening. He wouldn’t actually make me do this in his truck. Maybe I should pretend that he isn’t getting to me and just do it overenthusiastically. If I’m passionate about it, then he won’t know that he is getting to me. I need to submit. He deserves obedience. Don’t do it, though, ‘cause what if he isn’t serious? What if I start masturbating and he laughs and tells me that he’s just kidding. I will die of humiliation. Don’t do it.
I tried to change the subject by asking Sean how to operate the stereo but he swatted my hands away from the buttons, telling me he prefers the silence. He didn’t pass up the chance to further humiliate me by saying that he wanted to be able to hear the pace of my breathing as I got aroused. I intentionally made sure that he was staring at me when I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t give in. “If you don’t start rubbing your clit in the next ten seconds, you’re getting a spanking in the parking lot before I let you go into work.”
Needless to say, I slipped my hand inside of the gap between my jeans and panties and lightly massaged my folds. I scanned all of the vehicles around us, checking to make sure that none of the other drivers were aware of what was going on.
As we turned onto a different street, all we could see were red brake lights and I wanted to die. It was a near stand-still and I didn’t want drivers to casually glance over. “No one can see you,” Sean laughed. “Close your eyes, lean back, and relax.” I did as he said while still wanting to crawl into a hole and hide.
I fought my obedience a few times when my pride took over. I’d tell Sean that the entire thing was ridiculous and I’d start readjusting my pants when he’d threaten a spanking again. I would have gladly taken the spanking over masturbating in his truck, but I knew he wouldn’t be afraid to spank me in the parking lot of where I work. I knew others would probably look at it as us just playing around, but I still didn’t want to be forced to answer any of their awkward questions. So, I gave in and listened to him when he told me to keep two digits of both my middle and forefinger inside of my cunt.
“Lick your fingers,” he told me at a few random times. I’d scan all of the vehicles around me to make sure that no one was looking. Each time I did this, Sean just laughed and tried to reassure me that no one knew what my fingers were coated with.
I was feeling brave at one point and thought about wiping my fingers on his clean, black dress pants. I reached across, but my fingertips barely touched the material of his pants before he grabbed hold of my wrist. He didn’t even crack a smile, but I thought it was amusing. “Put them in your mouth,” he spoke sternly through gritted teeth, “and keep them there.” I tried to stifle my laugh by gently biting into the tips of my fingers but I couldn’t control the grin that spread across my face. Sean remained unimpressed as he forced my hand further into my mouth. I felt awkward as I sat there for another fifteen minutes with my fingers pressed against my tongue but I found it oddly arousing.
When Sean finally pulled into a parking stall, he immediately reached over and started shoving two fingers inside of my cunt. He wasn’t being gentle, nor did I really expect him too, so it hurt a lot! Even when his fingers were fully penetrated, he’d thrust them and smile as I grimaced. “Are you going to be good?” he asked.
"Yes, Sir."
He pulled his fingers out of my cunt and wiped the back of his hand across my cheek. "Good girl."
The roads were incredibly icy and every single vehicle was moving at a turtle’s pace. It was clear that our morning commute would take at least an hour and I was glad that Sean insisted on taking me to work. Whenever there’s a traffic report announcing that the roads are slippery, he refuses to let me drive. So, I kicked off my shoes, loosened my seatbelt, and shifted around to get comfortable as he groaned and complained about the traffic. I made an innocent, throw-away suggestion that he should get seat covers that would vibrate and massage my back. I wasn’t alluding to anything sexual at all. I simply desired a little more comfort than the hard leather seats in his truck.
“Well, try masturbating without the vibration for now,” he said with a smirk. I scoffed at his comment as I quickly tried to clarify that that was not what I meant at all, but he just ignored my explanation. “Unbutton your pants and spread your legs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not asking you to get naked. Just pull down your jeans a couple inches.” I watched him for a minute, hoping that he’d start laughing and tell me that he was kidding. He stared straight ahead at the traffic and when we came to a complete stop, his eyes scanned my body. “I’m waiting.” His patience didn’t last long before his hand reached over and grasped the top of my jeans. I caved and pushed his fingers away and adjusted my pants myself. I thought it’d be less obvious to those in the vehicles around us. “Good girl. Now show me how you masturbate.”
I already felt so embarrassed that I couldn’t make eye contact with him. I debated the entire thing in my mind: This can’t be happening. He wouldn’t actually make me do this in his truck. Maybe I should pretend that he isn’t getting to me and just do it overenthusiastically. If I’m passionate about it, then he won’t know that he is getting to me. I need to submit. He deserves obedience. Don’t do it, though, ‘cause what if he isn’t serious? What if I start masturbating and he laughs and tells me that he’s just kidding. I will die of humiliation. Don’t do it.
I tried to change the subject by asking Sean how to operate the stereo but he swatted my hands away from the buttons, telling me he prefers the silence. He didn’t pass up the chance to further humiliate me by saying that he wanted to be able to hear the pace of my breathing as I got aroused. I intentionally made sure that he was staring at me when I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t give in. “If you don’t start rubbing your clit in the next ten seconds, you’re getting a spanking in the parking lot before I let you go into work.”
Needless to say, I slipped my hand inside of the gap between my jeans and panties and lightly massaged my folds. I scanned all of the vehicles around us, checking to make sure that none of the other drivers were aware of what was going on.
As we turned onto a different street, all we could see were red brake lights and I wanted to die. It was a near stand-still and I didn’t want drivers to casually glance over. “No one can see you,” Sean laughed. “Close your eyes, lean back, and relax.” I did as he said while still wanting to crawl into a hole and hide.
I fought my obedience a few times when my pride took over. I’d tell Sean that the entire thing was ridiculous and I’d start readjusting my pants when he’d threaten a spanking again. I would have gladly taken the spanking over masturbating in his truck, but I knew he wouldn’t be afraid to spank me in the parking lot of where I work. I knew others would probably look at it as us just playing around, but I still didn’t want to be forced to answer any of their awkward questions. So, I gave in and listened to him when he told me to keep two digits of both my middle and forefinger inside of my cunt.
“Lick your fingers,” he told me at a few random times. I’d scan all of the vehicles around me to make sure that no one was looking. Each time I did this, Sean just laughed and tried to reassure me that no one knew what my fingers were coated with.
I was feeling brave at one point and thought about wiping my fingers on his clean, black dress pants. I reached across, but my fingertips barely touched the material of his pants before he grabbed hold of my wrist. He didn’t even crack a smile, but I thought it was amusing. “Put them in your mouth,” he spoke sternly through gritted teeth, “and keep them there.” I tried to stifle my laugh by gently biting into the tips of my fingers but I couldn’t control the grin that spread across my face. Sean remained unimpressed as he forced my hand further into my mouth. I felt awkward as I sat there for another fifteen minutes with my fingers pressed against my tongue but I found it oddly arousing.
When Sean finally pulled into a parking stall, he immediately reached over and started shoving two fingers inside of my cunt. He wasn’t being gentle, nor did I really expect him too, so it hurt a lot! Even when his fingers were fully penetrated, he’d thrust them and smile as I grimaced. “Are you going to be good?” he asked.
"Yes, Sir."
He pulled his fingers out of my cunt and wiped the back of his hand across my cheek. "Good girl."
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Vulnerable
I have a love-hate relationship with vulnerability. I enjoy the moments where I am physically in a vulnerable position to someone I trust, but I don’t enjoy feeling emotionally vulnerable. Every time that I get upset and confide in someone, my defences go up shortly after. Nic and my best friend are the only two people (that I’m aware of) that can see through this.
After I cried to Nic on the phone, my defensive walls were standing strong by the following morning. I woke with my eyes feeling dry and scratchy from crying myself to sleep and I felt completely embarrassed about getting emotional with her. That feeling never dissolved by the time she called, so I didn’t even answer my cell. Immediately after, I received a text from her, telling me to give her a call. I replied with an excruciatingly long message, which told her how sorry I was for being silly the night before and that I am completely fine and so on. “Then call me,” she wrote back.
I knew better than to call. It felt like a dare. She’d say all of the right things and she’d be able to accurately tell me how I was feeling. I wanted to feel strong and independent and I knew she’d see through that. So I didn’t call. Or reply to her message, actually. I knew that the tension would eat at me until I had convinced her that I was completely fine. I wanted her to believe that I didn’t need her guidance. I’m not sure if I even believed that, but I didn’t want to feel dependent on her.
For a long while, scenarios ran through my mind about what I could say and how I could ensure that my voice wouldn’t crack if I got upset. I especially needed a quick way to get off of the phone because I knew I would get that deep ache when listening to her voice. My defences were still strong but I knew that there was a good chance that I’d cave and go to her again in the future.
She showed up to my house before I even got up the nerve to call her. When I opened my front door, she just chuckled at the glare I gave her and marched right past me and headed for the kitchen. She was equipped with coffee and groceries, so we spent the first ten minutes arguing about whether or not I was going to accept the food. I hate it when people buy things for me but she just ignored everything I had to say as she stocked my fridge and pantry. I wasn’t impressed, but I genuinely thanked her.
We sat next to each other on the couch as she surfed through channels on the television. I melted when she shifted a little closer so that our bodies were touching and she rested her hand on the middle of my thigh. She tried to get me to talk, but I continuously changed the conversation to non-emotional topics. She got the hint, but took it as a sign to leave and pulled away from me. It was almost a reflex when I blurted out “Don’t go.” She fell back into the cushions and I felt little as I rested my head against her shoulder.
“I feel like I still own you,” she said after a few minutes of sitting in silence. I didn’t know what to say, but I asked her if that bothered her. “No,” she spoke confidently, “I want to. I just don’t think it’s good for you.”
Sometimes, I wish she’d let me decide what’s good for me and what’s not. Being able to make that decision on my own would even help eliminate that vulnerable feeling.
After I cried to Nic on the phone, my defensive walls were standing strong by the following morning. I woke with my eyes feeling dry and scratchy from crying myself to sleep and I felt completely embarrassed about getting emotional with her. That feeling never dissolved by the time she called, so I didn’t even answer my cell. Immediately after, I received a text from her, telling me to give her a call. I replied with an excruciatingly long message, which told her how sorry I was for being silly the night before and that I am completely fine and so on. “Then call me,” she wrote back.
I knew better than to call. It felt like a dare. She’d say all of the right things and she’d be able to accurately tell me how I was feeling. I wanted to feel strong and independent and I knew she’d see through that. So I didn’t call. Or reply to her message, actually. I knew that the tension would eat at me until I had convinced her that I was completely fine. I wanted her to believe that I didn’t need her guidance. I’m not sure if I even believed that, but I didn’t want to feel dependent on her.
For a long while, scenarios ran through my mind about what I could say and how I could ensure that my voice wouldn’t crack if I got upset. I especially needed a quick way to get off of the phone because I knew I would get that deep ache when listening to her voice. My defences were still strong but I knew that there was a good chance that I’d cave and go to her again in the future.
She showed up to my house before I even got up the nerve to call her. When I opened my front door, she just chuckled at the glare I gave her and marched right past me and headed for the kitchen. She was equipped with coffee and groceries, so we spent the first ten minutes arguing about whether or not I was going to accept the food. I hate it when people buy things for me but she just ignored everything I had to say as she stocked my fridge and pantry. I wasn’t impressed, but I genuinely thanked her.
We sat next to each other on the couch as she surfed through channels on the television. I melted when she shifted a little closer so that our bodies were touching and she rested her hand on the middle of my thigh. She tried to get me to talk, but I continuously changed the conversation to non-emotional topics. She got the hint, but took it as a sign to leave and pulled away from me. It was almost a reflex when I blurted out “Don’t go.” She fell back into the cushions and I felt little as I rested my head against her shoulder.
“I feel like I still own you,” she said after a few minutes of sitting in silence. I didn’t know what to say, but I asked her if that bothered her. “No,” she spoke confidently, “I want to. I just don’t think it’s good for you.”
Sometimes, I wish she’d let me decide what’s good for me and what’s not. Being able to make that decision on my own would even help eliminate that vulnerable feeling.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Ever
I cried to her on the phone. I could hear the hesitation in her voice when she had to cut off the conversation, but I understood that she wasn’t able to talk for a long time. I was actually quite humbled by the way she ended the conversation: “Go have a hot shower, get into bed, and relax,” she spoke sternly. Before then, when she was slowly easing me into the end of our chat, she mentioned that she’d check in later that night to see if I wanted to talk again. I knew that she’d text before she’d call to make sure that I wasn’t already asleep. She probably didn’t realize that I’d wait for her message anyway. Half an hour went by and I was still staring at my phone, which rested on the edge of the bedside table. I ached to see the small LED light flash and to hear it vibrate against the wooden surface. But it never happened.
After a few hours, I eventually fell asleep. I woke around 2am and the first thing I did was reach over to see if she sent a message. There was nothing. For a few minutes, I fell into a hole of self-pity, thinking that she forgot about me. Then I thought about how she probably remembered but didn’t want to talk. By the time 3am hit, I was furious with myself for feeling hurt.
I should be over her by now, but I don’t know if I ever will be.
After a few hours, I eventually fell asleep. I woke around 2am and the first thing I did was reach over to see if she sent a message. There was nothing. For a few minutes, I fell into a hole of self-pity, thinking that she forgot about me. Then I thought about how she probably remembered but didn’t want to talk. By the time 3am hit, I was furious with myself for feeling hurt.
I should be over her by now, but I don’t know if I ever will be.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Validation
A long time ago, a friend told me that I seek validation in others and that I don’t truly love myself. At the time, I pushed that idea away without putting much thought into it because I believed that everyone, to an extent, finds their own value and worth through others. Lately, I’ve been dwelling on this a little more as I continue to contemplate my sexuality.
The women that I find attractive are also the women that I find incredibly intimidating. They’re usually in their late thirties or forties and have their life sorted out for the most part. They’re confident and self-aware regarding where they’ve been and where they’re headed in life. They have a well-developed identity and it is one that they embrace. They take care of themselves because they wish to be healthy and happy, and not because they care about what every single person in their life thinks of them. They’re not afraid to have fun and enjoy life, but they take their responsibilities seriously. They’re also able to find the beauty within all of the trials and tribulations in their lives. They’re simply women with life experience and they genuinely believe that their role in this world is important. When I have earned the respect of these women, that is when I truly feel happy about who I am.
This, I believe, is why I feel like I am nothing when I'm not always near the top of Nic's priority list regarding her social life. She is one of those women. One that is respected by everyone in her life. I am definitely proud to know her and I am even more proud of the fact that I am close with her. No matter where we are, I am blissfully happy to just sit by her and to know that she cares about me. If she is able to find something in me that is worthy of her attention, then there is something that I can be proud of.
I can logically say that I should be able to appreciate and be proud of who I am without having to rely on others’ opinions. The problem is that I haven’t figured out how to truly do that and embrace those feelings. I know this is something that I need to learn because I tend to feel like I am nothing when I am not involved in a relationship or do not have a significant other telling me that they love me. I know that I am a good person, but I need to figure out how to feel that way when I am single.
I also fear that if I decide to spend the rest of my life with a man, I will not find that intense, blissful validation that I receive when I am with a woman.
The women that I find attractive are also the women that I find incredibly intimidating. They’re usually in their late thirties or forties and have their life sorted out for the most part. They’re confident and self-aware regarding where they’ve been and where they’re headed in life. They have a well-developed identity and it is one that they embrace. They take care of themselves because they wish to be healthy and happy, and not because they care about what every single person in their life thinks of them. They’re not afraid to have fun and enjoy life, but they take their responsibilities seriously. They’re also able to find the beauty within all of the trials and tribulations in their lives. They’re simply women with life experience and they genuinely believe that their role in this world is important. When I have earned the respect of these women, that is when I truly feel happy about who I am.
This, I believe, is why I feel like I am nothing when I'm not always near the top of Nic's priority list regarding her social life. She is one of those women. One that is respected by everyone in her life. I am definitely proud to know her and I am even more proud of the fact that I am close with her. No matter where we are, I am blissfully happy to just sit by her and to know that she cares about me. If she is able to find something in me that is worthy of her attention, then there is something that I can be proud of.
I can logically say that I should be able to appreciate and be proud of who I am without having to rely on others’ opinions. The problem is that I haven’t figured out how to truly do that and embrace those feelings. I know this is something that I need to learn because I tend to feel like I am nothing when I am not involved in a relationship or do not have a significant other telling me that they love me. I know that I am a good person, but I need to figure out how to feel that way when I am single.
I also fear that if I decide to spend the rest of my life with a man, I will not find that intense, blissful validation that I receive when I am with a woman.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Fumble
I was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, watching Sean pace back and forth as he spoke. Our mild argument was becoming more and more intense until Sean suddenly stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Even though he brought the conversation to a halt, his facial expression told me that he wasn’t impressed with anything that I had to say.
“Get down on your knees,” he told me. I smiled at how quickly his mood changed and scanned his face to see if he was serious or not. “Now, Lauren.”
I slid off the counter and headed for the carpet in the front room, but Sean caught my upper arm and ordered me to kneel right there on the hardwood floor. I may have groaned but didn’t protest before I knelt into position and promptly tried to undo Sean’s jeans. I had a difficult time releasing his semi-erect cock, which he found quite amusing. My face flushed deeply when I glanced up to see him staring down at me with his arms crossed, chuckling. “Do you need some help?” he asked.
“No,” I quietly whispered. I felt so embarrassed and his words just made me even more nervous. I finally released the button but my fingers fumbled with the zipper. Sean’s body shook with laughter and I began cursing at myself. My face must have been incredibly red because I could feel the increasing warmth of my skin as my embarrassment continued to rise.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Sean asked with a chuckle.
“The zipper is stuck and I don’t want to hurt you.” I had one hand inside of his jeans to guard his cock as I tried to yank down the zipper with my other hand. I grew more and more frustrated and my nerves were beginning to cause my fingers to tremble. He pushed my hands away from his groin and easily slid down the zipper without a problem. The grin on his face made me want to run away and hide, especially after he made a sarcastic comment about how it was just too difficult.
Pulling his jeans down to mid-thigh was easy and I slid down the boxer briefs he had on as well. Immediately, I took his cock into my mouth and sucked and licked until he was fully erect. Sean held a tight grip on a fistful of my hair, which controlled the movement of my head and forced me down further and further. “Good girl,” he cooed while releasing his tight grip. “Let's get your clothes off."
I watched him adjust his pants well enough to walk upstairs. I wasn’t sure where he was going but I assumed he’d return in a minute. Believe it or not, I sat there on the floor and struggled with the zipper on my own sweater. I thought I was going to cry. I could see exactly where it snagged the material and I tried to wiggle it out, but it wasn’t working.
“Are you not coming upstairs?” Sean asked when he reappeared on the bottom step. I stumbled over my words but eventually gave up on explaining that I thought he was going to return. That alone caused me to be red with embarrassment when rising from the hard floor.
Every step of the way to the bedroom, I fumbled with the zipper on my sweater. I could still see the material caught in the metal sliding piece and it would not dislodge. When Sean realized that I was struggling yet again, I simply tried to pull the sweater over my head to avoid further humiliation. I failed miserably since the zipper was caught near my neck and there wasn't enough room to slide my head through the open space.
“Are you kidding me?” Sean laughed.
I could feel a temper tantrum building up inside of me as I whined to him. “This isn’t funny. I don’t know what to do.”
Sean beckoned me over towards him on the bed. I lowered myself over his chest so that he could reach the zipper just beneath my chin. He fumbled for a couple seconds and then easily slid the metal piece down the length of my sweater. I was officially cranky and not impressed with myself at all. I threw the sweater to the ground, slid my tank top over my head, unfastened my jeans and threw those to the floor as well. I forgot that I had criss-crossed the straps of my bra that morning and angrily pulled it over my head.
“Did you have a bad day or something?” Sean asked.
“No, I had a great day,” I grumbled through gritted teeth. I stroked Sean’s cock with my hand and nestled into his arms. His kisses felt wonderful and he rolled me over onto my back, but I was still feeling a bit cranky.
“Relax,” he told me while trying to thrust inside of my cunt. I took a deep breath, but I’d unintentionally tense up. He forced one finger inside of me and then a second finger, prying me open. The pain was intense. He pressed against each wall of my vagina with his fingers and reached for the lubricant on the bedside table with his other hand. The cool wetness dripped inside of me and his fingers continued to thrust. “Take a deep breath and relax,” he said calmly when replacing his fingers with his cock. He didn't have to struggle this time but each of his thrusts brought more and more tears to my eyes.
The warmth of his cum filling me certainly felt nice, though. I'm not sure if it was his thrusting or my tears, but I felt calm afterwards. He kissed away each tear before guiding my head down towards his groin to clean his cock.
“Get down on your knees,” he told me. I smiled at how quickly his mood changed and scanned his face to see if he was serious or not. “Now, Lauren.”
I slid off the counter and headed for the carpet in the front room, but Sean caught my upper arm and ordered me to kneel right there on the hardwood floor. I may have groaned but didn’t protest before I knelt into position and promptly tried to undo Sean’s jeans. I had a difficult time releasing his semi-erect cock, which he found quite amusing. My face flushed deeply when I glanced up to see him staring down at me with his arms crossed, chuckling. “Do you need some help?” he asked.
“No,” I quietly whispered. I felt so embarrassed and his words just made me even more nervous. I finally released the button but my fingers fumbled with the zipper. Sean’s body shook with laughter and I began cursing at myself. My face must have been incredibly red because I could feel the increasing warmth of my skin as my embarrassment continued to rise.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Sean asked with a chuckle.
“The zipper is stuck and I don’t want to hurt you.” I had one hand inside of his jeans to guard his cock as I tried to yank down the zipper with my other hand. I grew more and more frustrated and my nerves were beginning to cause my fingers to tremble. He pushed my hands away from his groin and easily slid down the zipper without a problem. The grin on his face made me want to run away and hide, especially after he made a sarcastic comment about how it was just too difficult.
Pulling his jeans down to mid-thigh was easy and I slid down the boxer briefs he had on as well. Immediately, I took his cock into my mouth and sucked and licked until he was fully erect. Sean held a tight grip on a fistful of my hair, which controlled the movement of my head and forced me down further and further. “Good girl,” he cooed while releasing his tight grip. “Let's get your clothes off."
I watched him adjust his pants well enough to walk upstairs. I wasn’t sure where he was going but I assumed he’d return in a minute. Believe it or not, I sat there on the floor and struggled with the zipper on my own sweater. I thought I was going to cry. I could see exactly where it snagged the material and I tried to wiggle it out, but it wasn’t working.
“Are you not coming upstairs?” Sean asked when he reappeared on the bottom step. I stumbled over my words but eventually gave up on explaining that I thought he was going to return. That alone caused me to be red with embarrassment when rising from the hard floor.
Every step of the way to the bedroom, I fumbled with the zipper on my sweater. I could still see the material caught in the metal sliding piece and it would not dislodge. When Sean realized that I was struggling yet again, I simply tried to pull the sweater over my head to avoid further humiliation. I failed miserably since the zipper was caught near my neck and there wasn't enough room to slide my head through the open space.
“Are you kidding me?” Sean laughed.
I could feel a temper tantrum building up inside of me as I whined to him. “This isn’t funny. I don’t know what to do.”
Sean beckoned me over towards him on the bed. I lowered myself over his chest so that he could reach the zipper just beneath my chin. He fumbled for a couple seconds and then easily slid the metal piece down the length of my sweater. I was officially cranky and not impressed with myself at all. I threw the sweater to the ground, slid my tank top over my head, unfastened my jeans and threw those to the floor as well. I forgot that I had criss-crossed the straps of my bra that morning and angrily pulled it over my head.
“Did you have a bad day or something?” Sean asked.
“No, I had a great day,” I grumbled through gritted teeth. I stroked Sean’s cock with my hand and nestled into his arms. His kisses felt wonderful and he rolled me over onto my back, but I was still feeling a bit cranky.
“Relax,” he told me while trying to thrust inside of my cunt. I took a deep breath, but I’d unintentionally tense up. He forced one finger inside of me and then a second finger, prying me open. The pain was intense. He pressed against each wall of my vagina with his fingers and reached for the lubricant on the bedside table with his other hand. The cool wetness dripped inside of me and his fingers continued to thrust. “Take a deep breath and relax,” he said calmly when replacing his fingers with his cock. He didn't have to struggle this time but each of his thrusts brought more and more tears to my eyes.
The warmth of his cum filling me certainly felt nice, though. I'm not sure if it was his thrusting or my tears, but I felt calm afterwards. He kissed away each tear before guiding my head down towards his groin to clean his cock.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Exhausted
I was exhausted and could barely keep my eyes open as I rested against Sean’s shoulder. Every few minutes, I’d ask him to go to bed with me but he insisted on watching the news first. He flipped on the television while collapsing into the soft cushions and pillows on the couch and beckoned me over. It took a few tries to find a comfortable position where I wouldn’t be applying pressure to my incredibly sore bottom, but I eventually settled into a cozy spot with Sean’s arm wrapped around my lower body. His shoulder became my pillow as I listened to the familiar voice of the local reporter ramble about the day’s events.
“Get into bed if you’re going to sleep,” he repeatedly told me while firmly shaking my body until I was fully alert and responsive. His hand resumed lightly stroking my bottom over top of my sweatpants and that feeling of such tenderness (literally how sore I felt as well as the gesture itself) was incredibly relaxing. I soaked in every bit of that sensation while I tried to force myself to keep my eyes open. I’d listen to a bit of the news and then before I knew it, my eyelids would once again become too heavy. Sean’s fingers dug into my thigh as he shook me from my half-asleep state.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” I told him. “I was just drifting a bit.”
“Are you going to bed?”
“Not unless you’re with me.”
“Then get down on your knees. I want your hands on the coffee table.”
I didn’t waste much energy in protesting before I slid to the floor in front of me. I sat back on my haunches and cradled my head in my arms, resting on the table. I barely got comfortable before Sean was prodding my body into an upright position with my thighs and torso aligned. I could only lean against the table with my palms on its wooden surface. “Stay like that,” he said sternly. “You’re not going to sleep.”
It was a test of endurance, really. I was ready to pass out from exhaustion and holding my head up was a chore all on its own. I stared back at Sean, who stubbornly kept his eyes on the television even though he had to have been aware that I was watching him. I didn’t bother wasting any more energy on speaking to get his attention, but I let out a few obvious groans, sighs, and deep exhalations. If anything, I’m sure he found some amusement in it.
It was torture being that tired and not being able to rest my body. I took the chance and slightly adjusted my posture so that my head was cradled in my hands, with my elbows planted on the wooden surface. “Hands on the table. Now,” he shot out.
I felt defeated. I told him that I’d head to bed, but he no longer allowed that as an option. I didn’t really want to leave his presence at all, but I felt physically and mentally weak. “I need to sleep,” I told him repeatedly, which he ignored.
It was when I had heard the weather report for the third time that I started to grumble snarky comments about having to wait so long for the news to end. My motive was to try and get him to send me off to bed, but it didn’t happen. He pulled down my sweatpants instead and pinched my bottom while keeping his eyes glued to the television. “You already spanked me tonight,” I reminded him. My words must have fallen on deaf ears because he immediately pulled down my panties and gave me a few rapid, hard swats.
He disappeared for a few moments during the commercial break and returned from the kitchen with a large spatula. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes since I was so sure that that metal thing wouldn’t be able to cause much more harm to my bottom. Those thoughts quickly escaped my mind, though, when he started striking my tender skin with the handle instead of the flat surface. Tears welled up in my eyes as I begged for him to stop, but he continued to beat away at my bottom until I was clinging to the opposite side of the coffee table.
“Be still, pet,” he said gently while lightly rubbing my reddened flesh with the palm of his hand. Just when I thought it was over, several strokes landed on my thighs, which were followed by a few more blows of the metal handle to my tender ass. “Nice and red,” he cooed while patting my bottom.
I remained in position, not wanting to risk any further punishment but politely asked if I could finally go to bed. “I’m so tired, please let me go,” I pathetically begged. He entirely ignored my plea and slipped a couple digits of his index finger inside of me before commenting on how wet I was. “I just want to go to sleep!” I reiterated.
He helped me to my feet and handed me the spatula. “Go wash this, put it away, and then you can stand in the corner while I watch the last ten minutes of the news.”
I threw an internal temper tantrum as I fell into a hole of self-pity. If I had the energy, Sean probably would have witnessed quite an emotional outburst. To my surprise, though, I was able to keep my composure and I peacefully made my way to the corner of the room.
Each minute felt like a century, but I was incredibly relieved when I heard the television shut off, the lights went out, and Sean led the way to bed.
“Get into bed if you’re going to sleep,” he repeatedly told me while firmly shaking my body until I was fully alert and responsive. His hand resumed lightly stroking my bottom over top of my sweatpants and that feeling of such tenderness (literally how sore I felt as well as the gesture itself) was incredibly relaxing. I soaked in every bit of that sensation while I tried to force myself to keep my eyes open. I’d listen to a bit of the news and then before I knew it, my eyelids would once again become too heavy. Sean’s fingers dug into my thigh as he shook me from my half-asleep state.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” I told him. “I was just drifting a bit.”
“Are you going to bed?”
“Not unless you’re with me.”
“Then get down on your knees. I want your hands on the coffee table.”
I didn’t waste much energy in protesting before I slid to the floor in front of me. I sat back on my haunches and cradled my head in my arms, resting on the table. I barely got comfortable before Sean was prodding my body into an upright position with my thighs and torso aligned. I could only lean against the table with my palms on its wooden surface. “Stay like that,” he said sternly. “You’re not going to sleep.”
It was a test of endurance, really. I was ready to pass out from exhaustion and holding my head up was a chore all on its own. I stared back at Sean, who stubbornly kept his eyes on the television even though he had to have been aware that I was watching him. I didn’t bother wasting any more energy on speaking to get his attention, but I let out a few obvious groans, sighs, and deep exhalations. If anything, I’m sure he found some amusement in it.
It was torture being that tired and not being able to rest my body. I took the chance and slightly adjusted my posture so that my head was cradled in my hands, with my elbows planted on the wooden surface. “Hands on the table. Now,” he shot out.
I felt defeated. I told him that I’d head to bed, but he no longer allowed that as an option. I didn’t really want to leave his presence at all, but I felt physically and mentally weak. “I need to sleep,” I told him repeatedly, which he ignored.
It was when I had heard the weather report for the third time that I started to grumble snarky comments about having to wait so long for the news to end. My motive was to try and get him to send me off to bed, but it didn’t happen. He pulled down my sweatpants instead and pinched my bottom while keeping his eyes glued to the television. “You already spanked me tonight,” I reminded him. My words must have fallen on deaf ears because he immediately pulled down my panties and gave me a few rapid, hard swats.
He disappeared for a few moments during the commercial break and returned from the kitchen with a large spatula. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes since I was so sure that that metal thing wouldn’t be able to cause much more harm to my bottom. Those thoughts quickly escaped my mind, though, when he started striking my tender skin with the handle instead of the flat surface. Tears welled up in my eyes as I begged for him to stop, but he continued to beat away at my bottom until I was clinging to the opposite side of the coffee table.
“Be still, pet,” he said gently while lightly rubbing my reddened flesh with the palm of his hand. Just when I thought it was over, several strokes landed on my thighs, which were followed by a few more blows of the metal handle to my tender ass. “Nice and red,” he cooed while patting my bottom.
I remained in position, not wanting to risk any further punishment but politely asked if I could finally go to bed. “I’m so tired, please let me go,” I pathetically begged. He entirely ignored my plea and slipped a couple digits of his index finger inside of me before commenting on how wet I was. “I just want to go to sleep!” I reiterated.
He helped me to my feet and handed me the spatula. “Go wash this, put it away, and then you can stand in the corner while I watch the last ten minutes of the news.”
I threw an internal temper tantrum as I fell into a hole of self-pity. If I had the energy, Sean probably would have witnessed quite an emotional outburst. To my surprise, though, I was able to keep my composure and I peacefully made my way to the corner of the room.
Each minute felt like a century, but I was incredibly relieved when I heard the television shut off, the lights went out, and Sean led the way to bed.
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