Well then!

I had my first experience with a Hitachi last night.  We'd actually bought it about, oh, a month ago, and Jay's been using it, but I have so far resisted.  I was... intimidated?  Concerned?  Hmm.  Well, not totally on board with having a Hitachi applied to me.

I mean, that sucker is fucking loud.

I was apparently in somewhat more experimental mental space last night - or at least willing to be talked in to things - because when Jay said "Oooh, let's try out the Hitachi" in the midst of our excited erotic fumblings, I said "Okay?"  Maybe it was just that I didn't feel like saying "no" yet again.

Yes, there was a question mark on that.

And... you know, it's different.  Not bad, definitely very intense.  But different.  It's definitely thrum-my, which I've heard.  And I found that for me, unlike most vibrators, it needs to not be applied directly to my clit.  Press it in to my pubic bone, above or below the clit?  Oh now that is delightful.  I highly enjoy the fact that everything vibrates.

Is it a game-changer?  Nah.  Did it totally rock my world and/or tilt it off its axis?  Nope.  Will I use it again?  Meh, probably.  I just can't see myself reaching for it repeatedly and often.  Of course, I don't reach for vibrators that often anyway, so that's really not super-surprising.

What is interesting is that the twiddly bits were not nearly as sensitive after orgasm as they usually are.  How much of that is the Hitachi and how much of that is just where I am on the sexuality swing (see also:  the other night, I masturbated to orgasm, and immediately wanted to go again), who knows.

So one Hitachi-assisted orgasm and one penis-assisted orgasm later, at 10 at night, I passed the hell out.  And woke up at 6 the next morning with my necklace still on.  Classy.

Obviously I needed that.

Drunken non-escapades

I have this entire week off of work, and oh dear god it is wonderful.  I get to wake up at 9 when Jay leaves for the day, kiss him goodbye, and then snooze for a bit.  Then I get to do whatever I want.  It is extremely awesome and I don't want to go back to work, like, ever.

Unfortunately, I still have not figured out a way to make money without going to work, so Monday's going to suck it.

Over the long weekend - well, Jay's long weekend; he is, as mentioned, working this week - we went to visit some dear friends of ours and stayed with them.  There was much drinking, much movie watching, and much video game  playing, as it was about A MILLION DEGREES OUTSIDE and none of us are fans of the heat.

Saturday night we made salsa and were drinking mojitos.  I would not have called myself a rum fan - and still wouldn't - but oh lord I love me a good mojito.  I lost count at 5, which was somewhere around 11 that night.  Jay and I eventually went to bed around 3, and, being drunk, that meant I was horny.  The problem is, I'm loud.  Like, really loud.  I am an extremely vocal person anyway, that doesn't stop during sexual activity, and my voice really carries.  And we were in our friends' apartment, with four other people, so being loud wasn't an option.  Jay being an asshole, he was doing things specifically designed to make me scream, such as trying to remove my nipples by hand (swear to god that's what he was doing).  It's a lot more intense, I think, when you have to deal with the pain silently.

This went on for a while, and my control started slipping and I let out a whimper.   Jay responded by putting his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, which was hot as hell for the thirty seconds it took my brain to work out that there was something on my fucking face ohohgodohgodgetitoff.  Things on my face - like hands, scarves, masks, etc. - freak me out proper.  So I freaked, Jay cuddled me, and we passed out.  Dammit.

We did make up for it Monday  night when we got home, though, so that makes me feel a bit better.  But it was sober, which is a completely different sensation.  Ah well.  It's good to be home.

Using words like grownups

It's sometimes surprising to me how much the cliche of "communication" in a relationship really is true, and really is  helpful.

Case in point:  Wednesday night, Jay and I were up until 4 in the morning (FOUR IN THE MORNING.  ON A WORK NIGHT) communicating.  On various levels.

It started out with a discussion of what we'd done recently that we'd liked, what hadn't worked so well, and so on.  Then it moved on to things we thought we'd like to do more of, things we liked but found scary, things we fantasized about, things we're pretty sure we'd like to do but maybe are better left as fantasies, etc.  Basically updating our kink checklists, without the formality of a written checklist, and checking in on where our relationship is.

It was pretty fucking hot.  I am continually reminded that I am extremely lucky to be married to a man with whom I am a matched fucking set.  And I do mean fucking in both senses it could be taken there.  Our kinks don't exactly overlap, but if there were a venn diagram of our kinks it would look pretty similar to this one:


see more Funny Graphs

(oh graphjam, I <3 u)

So again, pretty lucky.  We compliment each other fairly well.  But even with that, I like having these discussions.  One, kinks change and evolve as people change and evolve.  Two, even after ten years, there is still no way that I know everything about Jay, and vice versa.  There is always more to explore.  Three, it's a hell of a lot easier to please each other when we are clear on what the other wants.  Four, even if it's something the other isn't necessarily interested in, it's good to know that, and I find that for me, bringing it up in this context is a good way to get me thinking about it and possibly engaging in it.

Then after being up until 3 talking about kink and sex and kinky sex, naturally we were both just a bit turned on and had to engage in some.  I wound up on my knees at the side of the bed giving Jay a blowjob, with his hands in my hair, whereupon he gave me a choice.  I could finish the blowjob until he came, and we could go to sleep, or I could get back in bed, masturbate until I came, and at such time as I did come, he would then fuck me.  I tend to get extremely sensitive after orgasm (as in, don't even fucking touch me), so this was not the pure treat it sounded like.

I opted for door number two anyway.

It was a lot loud, and a lot intense - both for the circumstances as well as for the actual act - and we both passed the hell out shortly afterwards.  Work on Thursday bit, but whatever.

This whole communication thing really has done nothing but improve our relationship.  And not just in the form of better, more frequent, or more intense sex, which are all true.  It's given us a lot of intagibles as well.  We trust each other.  A lot.  We know each other well.  And honestly, having had the discussion, I'm a lot less stressed, and just generally feel closer to him.  Not that I didn't feel close before, but, you know.

So yeah, cliche, maybe, but damn are we fans of this whole "communication" thing.

I don't think you're paying enough attention to me, she says as she rubs her naked body close to his in bed.

Oh?  he replies.

No, you definitely haven't.  I have been giving you so many clues, she whines.

Like what? he asks.

Like even on Wednesday when I fell asleep at 9, and I said that I was thinking of putting on the collar and the leash and waiting and letting you find me like that?  That was a big fucking hint.

I have clearly been remiss in my duties, he states.  Put the pink things in, go about your business, and I'll deal with you later.

And here you thought you were predictable!

For a long time I would have said that when I'm mightily stressed, I'm completely uninterested in sex.  This week - well, this past month, really - seems determined to prove me wrong.

I work full-time, as does Jay.  I'm not in the field I'd prefer to be, but I do something I'm damned good at, and I like my boss, so that helps.  Work's been... busy.  Really busy.  I don't have enough hours in the day, etc. and so on, blah blah blah.  Added on top of the busy bullshit, this has been the week of my name getting associated with shit that is so not even close to my demesne.  I have job duties.  I'm pretty clear about them with people.  And no less than four times in the past three days has my name been listed as the responsible one for things that I don't even have the slightest clue about.

That is intensely frustrating for me.  If I might indulge in a bit of bragging, I know a fuckton of things.  I am a wealth of knowledge, which is actually part of my job description.  But I don't lie about what I don't know - I'll be very blunt and upfront when it comes to telling people I don't have a fucking clue.  And I'll also be blunt and upfront when it comes to telling people that it's not my job, and they need to speak to the person who does own it.

So when others fuck up and put me on the hook for things I shouldn't be, I am irritated.  I am even more irritated when it results in hundreds of emails and phone calls to me (oh, if only I were kidding).  Let's talk about the fact that answering my phone is pretty much my least favorite part of my job, hmmmm?  (And how my voicemail is now changed, and I don't have to answer it this week, with my boss' permission.)

So a lot of things have been conspiring to make me stressed.  And I, oh, I am all about the sex.

Jay and I have had sex every night for the past week, and almost every night for the past month.  Joseph is all up in my business again (shocking, I know) and that is totes okay with me.  Hal's been on his game as well, and let's talk about the lovely comments we've made to each other.  The imagination?  In overdrive.  And the dreams I've had!  Good lord!

And yet I am so stressed that rather than join Jay at an activity tonight that we both enjoy and I adore, I opted to stay home.

What.

To be sure, I am not complaining.  I am slightly confused, but I am not complaining (okay, maybe I'm complaining about not being able to go two nights without dreaming of Hal in an inappropriate way, but other than that...).  Perhaps my self has decided that since sex is a highly effective stress-reliever, it does not behoove us to not indulge?  Who knows.  But good lord!

Project plans

One of the biggest selling points of our current house was that there are enough rooms that both Jay and I can have our own, separate offices, and we can also have a guest room.  Jay and I are both the type of people who need space of our own, to do our own crap in, etc. and so on.

Better yet, my office is up on the third floor, which means there's a whole floor between it and the downstairs neighbors.  Meaning I can be up there with the stereo blasting, working on whatever I like, and they don't hear me.

And perhaps best of all, I can paint my office.

The office is currently getting painted a lovely deep dark blue called "Nocturnal Sea".  Eventually a painted, glow-in-the-dark moon and stars will go up there as well, and I've already bought a room-sized rug for it.

Once it's done, I will have a nice little office.  And Jay and I will have a nice little playroom, with a conveniently-located attic in which to store some of the larger pieces we're thinking about building, such as a wooden pony, and a spanking bench, and a bondage frame.

Sure, we could buy them, but where's the fun in that?  I <3 power tools.

We'll also have a nice bureau in which to store some of our toys, like the honkin' huge (seriously, it is titanically huge) dildo I just bought!  Apparently right now I am very interested in insertions, specifically, large ones.  Good times!

There will also be hooks for canes and crops and paddles and such, and nice thick curtains so no one can see in.  And air-conditioning, because fuck this summer heat and humidity, seriously.

The second coat of paint goes on this weekend, and then the stars, and then the rug and OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY.

Everyone loves mail, part II

Arriving in the mail today, courtesy of my credit card and the fine folks at Blowfish:

• A miniature "I Rub My Fishie" - did y'all know that it comes with its own shower shelf?  It totally does.  I think it's going to live in our shower (ps living by ourselves is AWESOME)
• A Feeldoe

Oh yes, a Feeldoe.  Did I mention that we're both switches?  Mwahahahah.

As for the previous mail, we did in fact try out the new clamps on Monday night.  I was sitting on the couch wasting time and half-watching the football game (serious Patriots, that was not your best outing) when Jay walks in with the new clamps delicately jingling in his hand and says "Take off your shirt."

Oh.  Well then.

I give him a conflicted look and took it off, then asked him why he said I should take it off.

"Because they you can take off your bra."

Oh.

The bra comes off and Jay moves over by me to put on the clamps.  The good news:  the clamps are adjustable and since this week is apparently "Pain is GREAT" week for my nipples, they felt fantastic.  The bad news is that my nipples are bigger than I thought (and I will swear that they're bigger than they used to be) and so the clamps don't really fit on them.  I stood up and they both promptly fell off.

Not to be deterred, Jay shooed me in to the bedroom and bid me remove the rest of my clothing, whereupon he clipped them to my labia, where they could again delicately jingle.  They still felt really good (like, really good; it's just apparently "Pain is GREAT" week for all of my body) but the jingling kind of broke my head.  Every time I breathed there would be this gentle chiming from the rings as they swayed and hit each other, and I found it juuust a bit disconcerting.

My head got broken even worse when he clipped the rings together.  Oh goody, just what a sadist always wanted, a fucking handle.  And yes, I do mean that in both senses.

Everyone loves mail.

Arriving in the mail today:

• An assortment of spreader bars, including a couple of 4" ones, for which we have some very specific purposes in mind
  
• Adjustable nipple clamps with 1" metal rings dangling from them
• A small bottle of Liquid Silk lube

 This is exciting for me.  Not least of which is because wow, could I please have my nipples tortured a bit please?  KTHXBAI.  Seriously.

Jay spent some more quality time last night pinching and twisting them, to the same reaction.  His comment was "You know, I've always been told that nipples aren't faucets, but damned if they don't work that way on you."  It doesn't work that way all the time, but hooo boy am I going to enjoy it while it does.

It's kind of a pity that Monday Night Football is on, because otherwise I'd so totally be in bed convincing Jay to try out the nipple clamps on me.

Actually... we live by ourselves, and the shades are closed.  HMMM.

On maturity

I wasn't kidding when I said that 2009 was the year of men in my life. There's a lot to unpack with that, so I'm going to try to not blow the entire load in one entry because that would be silly (blogging hang-ups: I haz them), but I do want to talk about it.

First and foremost, Jay and I got married early this year. That didn't really change our relationship (except legally), I don't think. We've been together for most of the past 10 years (ten years! TEN YEARS, dear god, ten years). We've lived together, lived apart, shared bills, slept in the same bed practically since we met each other, been to each other's family gatherings and holidays and weddings and funerals, and been a linked pair in most of our family's and friends' minds for a long time now.

People keep asking me how it feels to be married, as if it were some life-altering totally radical change in our relationship. I don't have an answer for them, because it did not radically alter our relationship. We giggle that we're married, and are ridiculous entertained by referring to each other as "husband" and "wife". Yes, we're twelve, what of it? But the fundamentals of our relationship have not changed. I refer to him as my partner for a number of reasons, but first and foremost because that's what he is. We've both worked hard - damned hard - to have a relationship of equals, and just because cultural baggage says we're not, doesn't mean I want that.

What it has changed, however, is our relationship to other people.

Note:

Apparently black patent leather, 4" spike heel, knee-high, lace-up-like-a-corset boots really do it for Jay.

Soporific

I had already taken off my clothes, and was sprawled across the bed in all my naked glory. Behind me, Jay was undressing.

It was a late night; we were both tired and had stayed up watching baseball. I hear the belt come out of the loops, and then nothing else. I turn, see him holding the belt with a considering look in his eye, and dive under the covers.

Meep.

I hear him set the belt down, and poke my head out to look at him, raising one of my eyebrows.

He looks back at me, and I remind him that there is a world of difference between "Oh the HELL you're doing that to me" and "oh my god please don't do that to me", and we were definitely in the territory of the latter.

Once having this properly explained to him, Jay proceeded to put me to sleep by applying his belt to my ass. And it was fantastic.

fuck shit damn.

Oh, whoops, I have a blog!

You know, and it's not even that I've been so remarkably busy lately that I just have not had ten minutes to sit down and blog. It's just that, well, I haven't wanted to.

Then again, I haven't wanted to do much of anything lately, which is somewhat worrisome in and of itself.

Anyway, a few updates from the past month:

1. My sister-in-law, that is, the wife of my younger brother (see also: "That's because you can comprehend the ocean"), is pregnant. Approaching four months. The baby is due in February.
2. I am knitting a baby blanket for the baby.
3. My mom's 50th birthday was last week, and Jay and I flew out. It was awesome.
4. I think my sister-in-law doesn't like me. I think she's bat-shit loony, but not because she doesn't like me - because she's bat-shit loony.
5. Brother and wife did not fly out for my mom's birthday.
6. I went to the doctor on my mom's birthday. I had been feeling "off" for, oh, a week or so, but not enough to do anything about it. I'm sitting on the plane, and thinking to myself "oh my god, something is actually wrong with me, I have pain in my lower abdomen." This pain was complemented later that night by pain in my lower right back area. Diagnosis? A UTI that had spread to my kidneys.

Yes, I had one for at least a week before I realized. What? I've never had one before.

7. Have blamed Jay for the UTI.
8. Reminded Jay repeatedly that I am on serious antibiotics for the next week. Antibiotics.
9. Jay did not have sex with me on Sunday night, and I am sad. Well, not penis-in-vagina sex, anyway, which is really what I wanted. I gave him a handjob the next morning though, which was almost as good.
10. Still feel like crap and still have pain in the kidney area, albeit not as bad - but felt crappy and tired enough to not go in to work (which may also be related to the other general malaise I've been feeling lately). Nearly done with the antibiotics. Might call the doctor tomorrow, but I hate her, so maybe I'll see if there's someone else in the office I can see.

And that concludes the updates from the past month. Oh wait, I should also talk about the bachelorette party I went to. Oh god. What a fucking shitshow.

I have got to get out more

Jay decided on Sunday night that he was sick of not getting any and that whether I liked it or not, something kinky was going down. I let him, because I was kind of getting sick of not getting laid, either.

He puts one of the collars and the leather wrist cuffs on me, and then tells me to get down on all fours on the bed, right up against the footboard. He's got rope out, so I assume that I am to be attached to said footboard in some manner, and I am correct.

The man tied my boobs to the footboard.

This, naturally, broke my head. I mean, don't get me wrong, I bought this bed with the idea that we could tie each other to it - it's a heavy-ass steel or iron or something and there's lots of bars and cross-bars and swirly bits... well, you get the idea. I just didn't expect my boobs to come in to play here.

While my head was broken, Jay got out the crop and practiced his wrist movements for a while, which I did not feel because I was too busy going "so wait, each boob is tied individually to adjacent bars and I cannot move them or myself OH GOD THIS HURTS MY HEAD OH GOD STOP THINKING". Seriously, it was pretty awesome. I had a ridiculously stupid look on my face for at least twenty minutes.

Jay finally untied me (and un-broke my head) when I started shifting around too much it was getting to be an issue. Because my boobs were, you know, attached to the footboard, that meant that my hands were either on top of the board, or supporting weight right in front of me, and eventually my wrists and knees were telling me to fuck off, so I kept moving.

Once he untied me, he proceeded to hook my wrists to the headboard (see? attachment options) and make boob- and pussy-flowers. Unfortunately, the boob-flowers really hurt this time, making me an extremely sad panda. I, was about to cry, and I hate crying.

Meanwhile, Jay had gone to all this trouble, and after the near-crying incident, I was not okay with being awake anymore, and so he wound up coming on my face, which was fine by me because my eyes were closed and I think that if we'd had sex, I would definitely had freaked out, because holy god, pussy-flowers have the amazing side effect of making everything super-sensitive.

We then both got up very late the next morning and bitched all day about being stupid-tired. We are awesome.

Now all I need is a clothesline

So when I posted those stupid things I said over the weekend, what two weekends ago?

Completely aside, I remember desperately wanting to get older when I was a kid, and being pissed that time moved too slowly, and now that I'm older, holy shit, time moves WAY too fucking fast, okay?

Anyway, so I said those two things as, clearly, Jay was in the middle of beating my ass, which is what I have tended to use to refer to any and all BDSM-type activities. In this case, he did in fact beat my ass, but, you know, saying that he should beat me does not necessarily mean that I think he should find the nearest implement and whale away at my ass.

In this particular instance, Jay did in fact beat my ass for a while, but there were restraints involved as well. Now, being as I was restrained, I couldn't do much about the fact that Jay is a sadist. I may have covered that a few times here before, but just so that we're all on the same page, Jay is a sadist and frequently likes to remind me that he likes causing me pain. On this occasion, Jay decided to bring out the clothespins and experiment on my boobs.

Now, while Jay is a sadist (did I mention that he's a sadist? good) I am only kind of a masochist. I don't like pain, so much as I like discrete amounts of certain kinds of pain. Clips and clamps on my nipples are usually right out, if I have anything to say about it.

Guess what Jay loves to do? Well, he proceeded to do that, but not content with only using two clothespins from the bag full of them, he decided to put four more, making little compasses out of my boobs.

At this point I am deep-breathing, and in between deep-breathing, staring at him balefully. But I have to admit, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be, said expectations being born out of past experience. I don't know whether it was because I got a very good warm-up, some wonky hormone deal, what, but... my boobs didn't hurt bad. Oh, they hurt, but I was almost kind of enjoying the hurt.

If you've ever read kaya's blog, you've probably seen the pictures of the boob flowers (and if you don't read her blog, you should pop over there). Jay decided to make boob flowers. He put all of the clothespins in the bag on my boobs, continuing those four single clothespins into four rows of clothespins. But there were only about twenty clothespins in that bag, and there were spaces between the clothespins in the rows.

It was at this point that I piped up with my helpful remark about having bought more clothespins. To this day, I am not quite sure what was possessing me at the time. Clearly, my rational mind was not in control at that point. Jay's face naturally lights up and he goes to get the new clothespins, and proceeds to put them on, for a total of 26 pins on each boob.

And I am enjoying myself. For reals, I am laid back and enjoying myself, because this feels kind of good. I was blatantly ignoring that they would have to come off at some point, and instead basking in the warm glow that can only come from being in pain. He twitched them with his fingers, and jiggled my boobs around a bit, and there were a few sharp intakes of breath on my part, but it was not bad pain.

Jay's kind of an asshole though, and he took them off. That sucked. I spent the entire time with my face screwed up tight and trying not to breathe. But still, this wasn't as painful as other times I have had clips and/or clamps applied to my boobs. I wouldn't say that I enjoyed this, but it wasn't that bad. Okay, well, the nipples were that bad, and I almost cried. However, I did not cry, which earned me a "I'm very proud of you; you are a good girl", which, if I had been standing up, I would have blushed, ducked my head, and scuffed my shoe, most of which did not work as I was lying back on the bed.

I don't know that I would ever personally volunteer for that treatment again (then again, it's not about me volunteering, is it?), because this really was a one-in-a-million, I think. Whatever alignment of stars or hormones or whatever happened that day, while I wouldn't mind it happening again, I don't know that I'm going to go out and test for it, you know? But... dammit, I liked it. Oh god, I liked it. And I had a pair of lovely boob flowers to go to sleep with.

fuck it, i'm listening to muse

Jay was on a business trip this week, and is supposed to get home tonight. I've missed him, a lot. He doesn't live with me, so he's normally not here during the week anyway, but there's something different about him being a few towns over and not here and being in an entirely different state and not being here. It feels different, and I've slept for shit all week.

He was supposed to get in at the airport around 8 tonight, and was then going to come over. I kind of feel bad for whining and sniveling badly enough that he was going to come over after a day in airports and on planes, but not badly enough to tell him to just stay home and go straight to sleep.

Clearly, he is not getting in at 8 - instead, it's going to be closer to 11:30 tonight, which means that he wouldn't get here until 1 at the earliest, which is too late for him. So no Jay tonight, and I am sad. Life's just a little bit better when he's nearby - although, truly, it will at least be nice to have him in the same state again.

It doesn't really help the fact, though, that I have been beyond unsettled the past, oh, week or so. I'm having the devil of a time figuring it out, too. I shouldn't be too surprised though; this happens once in a while anyway. There's no reason for me to be upset or sad or anything, and I just am. Work is good, the house is good, life is good, and it's like I'm uncomfortable with success or something because I want to crawl out of my own skin.

I just want... something else, I suppose. And really, that's a neat explanation for why I desperately wanted to call Joseph last night; he's most certainly something else. A bad idea, to be sure, but feeling like this makes me want to do something dramatic and monumental. It's just that when I shoot for those things, it usually winds up being monumentally horrible. And doing, oh, just about anything with Joseph with perfectly fit that bill.

Tempting enough that at 2 in the morning I was still awake and thinking about doing it, though, which, yeah, that was really unspeakably awesome, okay? It's not like I've slept well all week, and then to be up past 2 in the am with strained effort to keep my hands still and under my head... well, I can think of more fun things.

The best part? I thought I had totally shaken him off, for good, finally. Oh, but no no no. He's ba-ack. Bastard. Clearly the lesson I'm supposed to learn here isn't nearly learned enough.

Made of these

Okay so the entire point of my posting was not to talk about food, but instead to talk about the fact that somehow this weekend Jay finally Figured It Out.

It gets capitals because it's important.

From Thursday evening til today, he managed to strike the perfect balance between Dom and NotDom. See, I don't like it to be Dom all the time. I, I, cannot handle a 24/7 relationship, because I either start laughing because I lose what for me is a required suspension of disbelief, or I get really uppity and bitchy that I have no control. I'm just a wee bit of a control freak about some times. Just a little. It's really only mild OCD.

But... I like a healthy dose of being NOT in charge on a regular basis. I am such a picky, high-maintenance bitch sometimes. Over this weekend, I got the requisite healthy dose, but not an overwhelming or smothering one. He wasn't Dom-y all the time, but he was enough of the time that I was kept on my toes and always reminded that, oh, right, I am not always in charge. Oh, right, and I kind of like that.

Some of it was subtle, like not letting me get away with being a smart-ass nearly as much as usual at dinner on Friday night - giving me That Look, you know. Some of it was much more overt, like deciding on Thursday that he was going to throw me on the bed and have His way with me about ten seconds after he walked in the door. Some of it was downright blatant, like how he woke me up on Sunday night since He had decided He was going to cause Pain in His Tits, and that I was going to take it, and I was not going to get sex out of the deal. And it was all really, ridiculously hot, and I spent a good portion of today unspeakably distracted.

It's still early, but since the hotness involved me not getting much sleep last night, I think I'm going to water my plants, clean up the remnants of my dinner, and curl up in bed and dream sweet, torturous dreams. Mother of god, I am one grateful slut right now.

Nosh

It was Jay's birthday this weekend, and he'd decided that he just wanted to have some friends over to my place and relax there. His birthday falls on Cinco de Mayo, so we usually drink Coronas.

Not to be outdone this year, I decided to make homemade salsa, because I like to show off and I thought it would be appropriately themed. It doesn't hurt that salsa is one of the few things that Jay will eat on the spicy side, and I like encouraging spice. Mmm, spicy food.

Seriously, if I'd known that salsa was as stupid easy to make as it is, I would have made salsa a long damn time ago. I think it took me all of ten minutes to make the fucking salsa. Oh, no, I lied, it took at least fifteen, since that's how long the jalapenos were roasting.

Also made were a delicious fruit salsa with homemade cinnamon-sugar tortilla chips. That was for me. Because I like fruit. And salsa.

As we were grocery shopping on Friday, I was in the world's pissiest mood, since I hadn't eaten all day. But, in the middle of the grocery store, I realized that perhaps a cake would be in order, so I asked Jay if he wanted one.

"I don't know..."

"I will make or buy whatever you want."

"It should involve chocolate."

I figured that I had to have a chocolate cake recipe at home, so away we went. Except that in all of my damn recipes, I do not have a basic chocolate cake recipe. Not one. Three versions of Black Forest cake, though.

The day was not lost, however, as I had a recipe for chocolate peanut butter cake, which neatly combined two of Jay's favorite things and thankfully turned out delicious and only used ingredients I already had in my house. So I baked a cake. And I am sitting here licking the frosting off of the sides of the pan, because holy crap is it good.

I did not mean for this post to become entirely about food, so I will end with saying that a good time was had by all, and that we ate a lot of salsa.

I said no, no, no

It all started when Jay decided that he was interested in breaking out the Houdini. The plan was that he would wear it starting Wednesday morning, when he left my place, and it would stay on until Thursday night, when he got back.

During the day Thursday, I naturally made mention that perhaps it wouldn't be coming off Thursday, and instead would stay off the entire weekend. He wasn't sure what to make of that - it was one of those "I would hate and love that at the same time" things.

Me being me, it came off Thursday night, but that didn't mean that he was allowed to touch the penis, oh no. There was no penis touching allowed. At first he was grateful to just not be wearing the Houdini anymore, but I don't know that "grateful" really accurately sums up the rest of the night.

One of the side benefits of my working in an office now is that my nails have a chance to get really, really long, and I put them to very good use. It started with using two of my nails to pinch his nipples, but I decided they would work just as well, oh, everywhere else on his body. There was considerable squirming of the "I hate you don't stop" type.

I also broke out the crop and beat his ass for a while. That is intensely satisfying, since he can not only take a lot of pain, but his ass really does turn a nice rosy color really quickly.

And through it all, through it all, there was no touching of the penis. It eventually got to the point where he was informing me "Oh, so that's what blue balls feel like", which naturally, just added to my glee. I'm sure it wasn't so much fun for him, but I was certainly enjoying myself.

That's the thing. When I'm in charge, I am gleeful. He enjoys pain, and I enjoy inflicting it upon him, grinning like a deranged pixy the entire time. I took some time and came up with new ways to inflict pain, and it was great! Fingernails are truly, truly awesome - a stance which I previously have not held.

The only problem with any sort of denial play is that I don't usually last too long - neither of us does, really. Eventually we give in and fuck each other stupid, which we proceeded to do in this case. It wasn't for at least an hour and a half after we'd started though, so I was proud of myself for holding out that long.

And we were very, very stupid afterwards. Which makes it all the nicer to (eventually; it usually takes me a while to move) snuggle up together and fall asleep in each other's arms.

never be the same again

SO. Presentation is done. All that's left is to write up a self-evaluation, which will take me about ten minutes to do when I do it, because it's 2 pages or less of complete and utter bullshit.

So, I'm relaxing with a glass of wine and some Sevendust on iTunes, and wicked pleased with myself because the presentation was A-mazing.

I am in fact sitting down!

We got the crop on a Thursday, ever-so-conveniently. Must love the Stockroom. Jay came over that evening, as he usually does, and I surprised him with a long, skinny box on the bed. He knew I'd ordered it - he helped pick it out - but I hadn't told him it was there.

He was, at least, generous enough to let me have dinner.

The week before, I had completely lost it when he had my wrists tied, and I was laying on my back, and he took the flogger to my, of course, bound breasts. I am talking lost, my shit. Rope floggers, right, not exactly the most precise of instruments, and while it doesn't hurt, per se, it was entirely too close to my face to avoid panic. We are talking like, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back in my head (which you couldn't see because they were screwed shut, but you know) panic. That stopped things right quick, and nothing else really happened.

Jay, though, was disappointed. Apparently he likes beating me or something? I don't know. Anyway, I am pleased to report that the crop is much, much more precise. Exceedingly precise, if you must know. For people like me ("not the face! not the face!") this is an important detail.

Also, I love it, from both ends (which I will get to). It is long and skinny and black and it smells good and it is not nearly as stingy as I was fearing. It's definitely more stingy than, say, a flogger. And I don't really like stingy (canes make me a sad panda). But it's not entirely stingy - it's a good balance of sting and thud, which makes it entirely enjoyable. He decided that beating my His tits was the way to start the night, and I blissed the hell out. It felt gooooooooooood. And since it's much easier to control, I could close my eyes and be assured that the face would not in fact be involved.

Not content with the tits, Jay flipped me over and went for the ass. Oh my god, I was so relaxed and out of it that I drooled on the pillow and could not differentiate one hit from another. I slightly noticed when he used his wrist to thwack me quickly with it - crops are bouncy! - and could tell that was different from when he used more of his arm to really smack me - crops also don't require much effort to get much smack behind them - but it was all fucking fantastic. It's usually pretty difficult for me to get in that kind of blissed space, even in bondage, because my brain just likes thinking waaay too much, but wow was I far into it at that point. Jay likes to say that I get fucked stupid - which I do; sex makes me a flipping idiot - but I was long dumb before things got there.

As for the other end, I got to try it out on Jay the very next night, and holy butt is it FUN. You can grip it really tightly and make your arm shake from the strain and the business end just gleefully bounces up and down on your chosen surface, and you can whale away, and you can lightly tap, and you can caress - say, gently rub it over someone's balls? - and it goes exactly where you want it. I kind of want to walk around my house and hit things with it, just for the satisfaction of having something do exactly what I want, but I don't think it'd go over well with the roommates.

Unfortunately, after that weekend, the project really started eating up my time, so we have not used it since then - sad day, right? But now that it's done, and I suddenly have a lot more free time, I fully intend to do what I can to make sure it's used this weekend. Jay is back on the Dom kick again - if the way I was woken up Sunday night is any indication - so I don't think it'll be too hard.

god don't make the laws

I told Jay my little bit of glee that it was not the blowjob that made my throat sore. It was intended as a good-natured bit of humor about cock size, because really, I'm about 10 and things like that still entertain me.

His response? A look.

The look in question is the one that says "Bitch, you're crazy, and I'm not going to respond to the crazy currently coming out of your mouth, in the hopes that it will stop." That look.

I hate him.

One thing for the plus column though - you ever do something, and then you go, damn, that was so hot, and I have no idea why?

Yeah, well, we had one of those moments a while later. He's still in that Dom-my mood, so he was messing around with me, and he ends up putting his fingers in my mouth, and I start sucking them, because really, what the hell else was I supposed to do? And it was HOT and AMAZING and sweet jesus did it get better from there. *fans self* It was the kind of orgasm where your body and mind disconnect and you feel like you're floating about two feet up. That kind.

Damn but I could really get to love this Dom streak.

I am also considering getting myself naked and waiting for him in bed. Because it's snowing outside and I'm home from work early, and I think I've convinced him to leave early, and what better way to spend an early evening than in bed?