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!

I'm told the term I'm looking for may be "Saturn Return"

I've been working my way through the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2009, and discovering lots and lots of fantabulous new reading material.

My blogroll is sadly out of date.

Hell, this blog is sadly out date. Yes, it's been well over a year since I've posted here. At the time I really dropped off, August of 2008, I had moved with Jay to a crappy tiny apartment, I had a crappy job that sucked the life out of me (almost literally; I wound up distressingly ill while working it), my life was a mess.

Clearly, some things have changed.

There's so much to write about! 2009 has been the year of men in my life! We moved to a brand new apartment that has a room we're seriously considering making a semi-permanent playroom! There are hooks more or less permanently attached to the head and footboards! Jay and I got officially married! I have a much better job, that while I hate it, doesn't make me sick! I have been thinking about and wanting and having sex again!

Seriously. Part of my adult identity has been my libido and sexual tastes, and for a while they were just... gone. It was fairly distressing. Added to all of the other things that were fucking my shit up last year, and the tail end of 2008 and, if we're honest, probably the first half of 2009 were a head-fuck of gigantic proportions.

But now that things have started progressing again, it occurs to me that having this self-created safe space to verbally work out some of the things in my head and in my life is probably a helpful, useful thing, and it probably behooves me to utilize it.

So. I'm back.

And updating my damn blogroll, jaysus christ that thing is a mess.

Dual purpose

You ever have something where you like it, but you don't know if you like that you like it?

I got a smallpox vaccine last week, so I have to keep it bandaged up, and was highly recommended that I keep that arm covered up with clothes, to protect the people around me. It's not like they'll die - or that I will - it's just that the vaccine is really contagious and the virus used causes ridiculously itchy pustules, so if I managed to rub the pus or touch it and touch something else, it can be spread really easily. I told Jay all this, so he allowed as how maybe my wearing a nightshirt to bed was a good idea, rather than sleeping naked and on top of him like I usually do.

So I got ready for bed last night and took off my clothes and put on my nightshirt, and left my underwear on, 'cause that's what I've been doing all week. It's been damn cold, and I need the extra layer! Jay naturally starts fooling around - and maybe it had to do with the fact that I encouraged him to come over a day early with promises of sex - and gets to the fact that I, am wearing underwear.

"What is this?" he asks.

"My underwear!" I promptly reply. Since about three milliseconds after that, I realized that may not have been the best reply possible, I follow up with one of my cutest smiles in the world, hoping that will solve any issue.

It didn't of course, but he didn't do anything at first, just informed me that clearly, they needed to not be on, and that fact should be remedied. I figured I was more or less off the hook.

In a way I was - I wasn't punished or anything. But I was definitely reminded, very clearly, of the rules. Namely, we were in bed, that means He is in charge.

He loves to pinch and twist my nipples, and there was some of that. He loves to spank me, and there was some of that. But what really did it for me, was he put his hand on my neck.

He doesn't even have to put pressure, as I believe I have mentioned before. All he has to do is just put His hand around my neck. And I am a fucking goner. I am internally freaking my shit out, hating every minute, in that "oh my god this is amazing I am clearly going to cum here" way.

I did, by the way, but god, I hate that shit.

Or maybe I just hate that I love it.

Steam and sex

We go through cycles, Jay and I. We oscillate between 'kinky' and 'less-kinky'. Even when we're not doing anything else kinky, and we just want some calm, warm-fuzzy sex, he's usually pulling my hair or something.

It was during one of our kinkier weekends that we first had sex in the shower. Well, the first time in years, really. I think we'd done it once or twice when we were living together in one of our relationship's previous incarnations, but that was at least two or three years ago. It hadn't worked too well, as I recall, those last times.

I'd spent the weekend in a collar, naked, for the most part, but it was a Saturday afternoon and I wanted a shower. I'm one of those people that has to shower every day or I feel strange. I crave being enveloped in water and steam, locked away in my own little world. Nothing else exists but the pounding of the spray on my head and the water sluicing down my body. It's stress relief, grounding, rejuvenation.

Sometimes I like to bring Jay in there with me, and I was in the mood for that. I worked up the nerve, somehow, to drop the hint that we did in fact have a pair of waterproof, neoprene cuffs, and wasn't that interesting? I was so nervous as I said it that I kind of wanted to puke, and I'm quite proud that I didn't.

Jay responded by taking off the leather, not-shower-proof collar, putting on the cuffs in question, and more or less dragging me into the shower.

At first, nothing really happened. I washed my hair, he washed his, we soaped each other up, so on and so forth, and suddenly I am backed up against the wall, hands cuffed together and over my head, and his hands are everywhere - pinching and twisting my nipples, slapping my breasts, smacking my thighs apart so that he could get at my pussy, teasing me mercilessly. There's nowhere I can go, nothing I can do to get away from it. I'm lost - my mind has shut off, my eyes have closed, and I am nothing but sensation. My arms are still above my head, I have no choice, I am not in control.

I beg, wordlessly, for his cock; words have long abandoned me. He gives me two fingers instead. They slip inside His pussy easily, stroking, filling, making me buck my hips and ask for more. He takes his fingers out, and puts his hand on my throat, making me open my eyes and look at him, and as I stare at him through sex-hazed eyes, he slowly, slowly, slides his cock inside of me, making me wait, making me writhe, making me beg all the more.

He fucks me like that - up against the wall, hands cuffed together, as he holds my hips to keep me upright, as my knees are failing. In some distant part of my brain I hear his breathing change, getting heavier, harder. The only other thing I am aware of is this perfect moment of being one, together, and as he pushes me over the edge into orgasm, my mind shatters, and I am left shaking, trembling, held in his arms, unsure of what has just happened, but secure in the knowledge that he won't let me fall.

He smooths my hair back from my face, murmuring reassurances in my ear, waiting for me to come back down to earth and regain some power over my legs. When I can stand again, he turns off the shower, wraps me in a towel, and dries me off and puts me to bed, and I fall asleep, curled up and held in his arms, and wearing the collar once more, because I am His.

(not a) Pain Slut

So after Jay and I had talked about me not wanting him to live with me again, I promptly offered for him to come over last night and have dinner with me, and possibly stay over. You know, no strings attached, but hey, just because I told you 'no' doesn't mean I don't want to see you. That sort of thing.

Of course he accepted. He's not that dumb.

We managed to find a new restaurant and actually go and eat dinner, which is a first. I love the idea of finding new places to go and things to do, and then usually freak out at the last minute and want to stay home in a ball of cranky. But it was good. I ate ribs. And we talked through dinner, which we never do, and it was a rather novel sort of experience.

When we got home, Jay was laying on the bed in a bit of a steak-induced food coma, and I was puttering around, cleaning up small bits and bobs. My room is a hot mess, but I figure if I can at least get a few small things put away, that makes it a little bit better. Maybe.

I was cleaning off my nightstand, and came across a couple of clothespins I had taken out a while back, on one of the few occasions that I had masturbated. Naturally, being a snot, I couldn't help but make the comment "Oh, how did these clothespins get here?"

Jay more or less immediately woke up, and started questioning me on just why they were out, which turned me into a giggly wreck. It's like, I want him to know what I'm doing, but I don't want to actually tell him. He should just read my mind and know this shit, you know?

He eventually got out of me that I'd used them on my nipples, told me that was extremely arousing for him, and I thought the matter was over, since he was starting to fall asleep. Except, oh wait, no, and suddenly my clothes are off and Jay is digging around in the drawers. He comes out with the collar that we have matching cuffs to, puts it on, and then puts just the wrist cuffs on. He links the cuffs together and puts my hands over my head in that way that says that just because he didn't secure them there, doesn't mean I get to move them. I am waiting with baited breath to see what else he comes up with.

I am not entirely sure what he is doing until he starts pinching my nipples, which means that clothespins or other clamps are surely in my future. Now, I have somewhat sensitive nipples, and I am wholeheartedly not a pain-slut, so Jay usually puts the clamps somewhat behind my nipples, so that they're not the only thing clamped. No such mercy this time, the pins go directly on the nipples, and mother of GOD IT HURTS. I am doing deep-breathing exercises to deal with this pain, okay? Being a bit of a sadist, Jay is enjoying every minute, and decides to up the fun by adding a pair of clothespins to my labia, and hey, what's one more clothespin between friends? He puts it on my clit. I hate him.

He is toying with my g-spot in a way that raises goosebumps on my flesh, and I am desperately, desperately trying not to have an orgasm, because when I do, my tits will move, and it will hurt. Lots. At this point, I am probably about as happy as I can be without being happy at all, for whatever sense that makes.

By now my nipples have been tortured for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. This shit hurts. I probably cannot repeat that enough. I am also incapable of coming up with a good metaphor for the pain, so you'll have to take that. Anyway. He takes the clothespoins off my labia, and that's fine, not really too much pain there, nothing I can't handle. Then I see him going for the tits. Now, I wanted them off, I really did. But I didn't really want them off, because I knew that it was going to be horrible. He waits just long enough that he knows that I know it's coming, but not nearly long enough for me to psych myself up for it, and off they come and oh my god my world is black and focused entirely on the fucking pain that is radiating from my nipples and dear god it is never going to stop and jesus fuck i am about to cry.

Apparently at this point, I had an extremely sad face on. I wonder why that was?

He says that he is very pleased that I did not scream, and that I did not actually cry, although he could tell that I was close. He cuddled me for a bit, reassuring me, all of that sort of thing, because I needed it. For someone who I have frequently labelled as blind when it comes to non-verbal cues, he certainly does just fine reading them when we're playing together.

He did a few more things to me, and after the fun was done, snuggled up with me on the bed. My nipples were decidedly unhappy, so that limited a few of my snuggling options. The point of the matter is, we discussed, and he informed me that oh yes, this was entirely not about me and what I wanted, and definitely all about what he wanted to do to me. He knows I don't like pain, he knows where my limits are, and he wanted to push them. He likes doing that. He told me how I was a good girl for doing so well, and right there, as he is telling me that I don't get to choose what I have done to me, as he is holding me tight and caressing me, I feel the most loved, most cherished, and safest I have felt probably ever.