Shifting Limits, Seeking Balance

So when I showed my husband this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt:

...he laughed and said something like, "You put up that sign all the time...and then... you get drunk...."

Somehow, at that point, the "off" becomes a bit blurry and starts to look more like "no". Funny how that happens - a little liquid courage...or better yet, a little liquid freedom.

So, that led me to consider: freedom from what, exactly? Where does my inner censor come from? Because quite honestly, even sober, sometimes a particular thing sounds good - and then at another time, it totally turns my stomach and freaks me out, making me question my own desires.

And then, of course, there are limits that stop being limits through experience. A good example would be anal sex, for me. I can remember, all the way back to college when I had anal sex for the first time. It was awful. Just sad, really. He sort of just shoved (or tried to shove) his dick in there, sans lube (ouch!), and I spent the remainder of the night curled up in the fetal position feeling embarrassed disappointment. I was so traumatized, I didn't even attempt it again until I met my husband, in my late 20s. It still makes me blush to talk about it, but I must admit, I enjoy it, and while it is no longer off limits, talking about it in any sort of depth is still uncomfortable. Why? I have no idea. My inner prude seems to think I'm a total slut sometimes and that having anal sex - and liking it - is proof. Why I'm worried about what my inner prude thinks is beyond me, because my inner slut thinks she's a fucking bore.

What else has been off limits? Non-monogamy comes to mind. But that one goes up and down for me. Sometimes it sounds like a ton of fun. Other times, it just sounds like work and eventual, unavoidable disappointment. In connection, non-monogamous exploits in our town of residence is another "off limits" turned "aw, what the fuck...might as well." Non-monogamous interactions with co-workers? Bosses? Friends? Yah...been there, done all of it...and lived to tell about it...reputations and relationships all happily in-tact.

Pretty much nothing that I would once have deemed "off limits" has come back to bite me in the ass once I've tried it. My emotions about and reactions to some of those events have done me some damage, but the actual events have caused no lasting harm to my life.

In fact, I have to say, with my track record, it's a wonder I say no to anything. Because, aside from so many disappointing male swingers, trying new things has never led me to ruin. And yet...I still dig in my heels and freak out any time my husband wants to try something new.

Nobody puts baby in a corner...but baby sure as hell puts herself there on a regular basis...

Tie me up? Okay. Awesome. No. I changed my mind. Okay. Yes, please.

Wartenberg wheel? Ow. I don't know. Maybe. Tonight it works. No...no! I can't take it! Let's try it again.

Discipline? Spanking? Makes me feel subjugated. Makes me feel impish. Makes me feel like disobeying more. Makes me feel indignant. Makes me feel horny. Spank me please! Fuck, that hurts. No more of that, please. I can't handle it any more.

Violet wand? Fuck no. Fuck no. Fuck no. ??? I don't know...maybe I could consider...maybe...if...

(Am I the only one with these weird bi-polar, shifting limits?)

Pretty much everything that I've tried, at one point in my life...it was off limits. Can't have sex...turned into...Can't have sex until I'm 16 (I self-imposed that rule...like most of my limitations). Can't have sex with someone I don't love...turned into...Can't have sex with someone I don't know. Can't have oral sex...but it's okay with ____________. Can't have unprotected sex...unless you really trust him. Can't have anal sex...became...Won't have anal sex...became...Okay, I'll try again...became...Awesome. Can't have sex with married people...morphed into...Can't have sex with married people who are cheating. Can't have sex with more than one person at a time. Can't have sex with a woman. Can't have sex in public. Can't have group sex. Can't have sex with an audience. Can't be filmed having sex. Can't talk about sex publicly. Can't publish naked photos of myself.

Every sex-related "can't" or "won't" has, over time, turned into a possibility or a reality...even a preference. At this point in my life, I don't think I could honestly say" never" to anything sexual that was consensual. My only worry is the idea of having no limits. For some people, that might sound like a whole lot of fun and completely freeing. But it terrifies me. Where does it end? Where does the experimentation end? When does it go too far? Because it can. It can always go too far. I think I have a whole lot in common with my dog...who needs to have a small, enclosed space to feel safe while she sleeps. That's how I am with my sexploration.

I suppose it's all about finding balance, which can be tricky when you only have to deal with yourself. It can be near impossible when you have to consider the needs and wants of two.

That's where Mr. LL and I are now - figuring out our limits, knowing those limits will shift with time, learning to be open to the changes. Well, I'll be honest...I'm learning to be open to the changes...or at least close my eyes, take his hands, wince, hold my breath, and trust him to lead me.

Now-a-days...the only things off limits in our sex life are sexual stagnation and avoidance of tough conversations about limits.

Am I starting to like it? WTF?

I never considered myself the spanking type. I'm not much into pain (small amounts in the right situations...you know, hair-pulling, rough sex). But, it's growing on me, and I'm beginning to understand the need that some people have for serious spanking sessions. That whole "out of body" experience, getting outside of one's self, can be freeing and cathartic. Some people do it with drugs. Others with alcohol. Still others with physical activity like running or sex. It's all about the endorphins. Regardless of how you get there, it's about the build up of tension followed by the intense release.

We all seek it in one form or another. And as I begin to find it in ways outside of alcohol (I can admit that me and wine are pretty close...and gin is a happy third wheel)...mainly through physical activity, and as Daddy and I continue to adapt and find what works best for us, I'm finding that the occasional spanking...that tiny bit of pain...isn't so much a "bad" thing. There's intrigue there. There's just a little fear. A lot of mental build-up. And then a sudden burst of pain followed by release.

The sting...ouch...I can do without (though I don't always have a choice). A nice solid smack with a hand...the flogger (which expands the pain into more than one place so it's not so intense)...the pretty pink rose that blooms on the skin afterward. Yeah, I can live with all of that. In fact, at certain moments, I actually find myself craving it.

Weird.

Plus...he likes it. He likes to smack my ass...he likes to see it turn pink with the shape of his hand. he likes to hear the crack of skin against skin...or spanking implement against skin (whichever). So it's hard to use it completely as a punishment. For now, it works, because I don't love it. But, what if it grows on me? Or better yet, what if I begin to want it? What if I start adding it my requests and it comes out sounding like...

Of course, it has a lot to do with me either being ready for it, and steeling myself against the pain, or simply being off my guard and not being ready for it. If I have too long to think about it, I build it up in my mind. I turn it into a much bigger deal than it is. I panic, and I make it worse than it is. But, I'm finding that my brain is turning on me. It's starting to consider it. It's starting to open up to it. 

I'm not sure if my brain is my friend or my enemy at this point.

He doesn't have to make me

Last night, he asked me to wash my face, take my clothes off, get in the bed, and present. But when I came out of the bathroom, he was lying in the bed, listening to a message on his phone (I thought he was talking to someone). So I lay beside him, sort of slipped into the covers, figuring I'd present when he was ready.

Problem.

I should have done what I was told to do. Regardless.

When He finished listening to his message, He asked me why I hadn't complied. I stammered an inadequate excuse but let it die on my tongue. I knew I was in the wrong.

Because, if we are going to make this work...He shouldn't have to make me. I should just do it.

He told me to "avert my gaze" as He opened the "toy drawer," telling me He was getting out my "favorite" spoon - the one I hate so much (the threat of a spanking, of course). I braced myself, expecting it. But it didn't come. He told me he wasn't going to punish me...because we haven't really worked that part of our contract out yet. He asked me if I felt like I was being treated like a child (a sticking point for me), but the funny thing is, I didn't.

It might sound trite, but this time feels different. We've been down this road several times, and it's never completely worked. Something's always been off. Not quite right. And while we still have quite a bit of work to do, I find myself feeling excited to begin. There is a noticeable absence of resistance. A feeling of calm. I find myself (my selfish, childish self) thinking more about Him than me...more about what He wants and what would make Him happy. This isn't just about me, after all. It's about us and what we both need from each other. And He doesn't have to make me His...I already am. It's just been a rocky road admitting it, completely.

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"I'm sorry, Daddy." (FFF)

It's been awhile since I FFF'd. And I really wasn't sure I'd be able to find inspiration for this photo...but, I just started writing, and this is where it took me. Head over to the Flash Fiction Friday site to join in the writing fun!

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

“Will you spank me, Daddy...” Her slightly averted, pleading eyes, her bouncing pigtails, her pink-cheeked, smiling face..all of it framed by his naked, spread knees, made him smile. 

“Why, princess?” His right eye squinted as his lips curved up in a wicked curl.

“Because it’s my birthday.”

“It’s not your birthday, princess. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, Daddy.”

“Oh, but love, you are. You are lying, and you know it, don’t you?”

“Why would I lie, Daddy?”

“Because you want me to spank you harder, baby. And you know what, I ought to send you away right now for your naughtiness. But, you know what I’m going to do instead, my girl?”

Her smile had faded, a shamed blush taking its place.

“I’m going to spank you. I’m going to spank you so hard you won’t forget it. And the next time you feel the need to hand me such an unnecessary and silly story just to get what you want, you’ll be sent to the corner.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly, with great intent, as if he were counting backwards to keep his calm. 

He patted his lap.

She moved instantly, positioning herself across legs, her full breasts pressing into the outside of his left thigh, her belly pushing against his right.

“With every strike, princess, I want to you say I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Meekly, she whispered, “Yes, Daddy...”

Raising his voice slightly, he demanded, “Speak up, girl.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, clearly and obediently.

His hand came down hard to meet her bare bottom, leaving its telltale red print, like a semi-permanent tattoo.

Her voice rang out, in between each resounding smack, her rear-end quivering, “I’m sorry, Daddy!”

But she was not.

Closer

Music has been such a focal point in my emotional life, it's hard really to pinpoint a particular moment when it played a bigger role than in any other.

That, and...because my memory is less than stellar, it's also difficult to remember the musical specifics of any given event.

One that I can remember is receiving a "mixed tape" from a college boyfriend (I was still in high school - and he was several hundred miles away).  I put the tape on the main house stereo, naively allowing my parents access to the metaphorical depths of the songs he'd chosen.  All was fine and dandy until Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" came on.  I'd never heard the song before, and, well...I about came out of my clothes rushing to turn the damned thing off before it continued to its second bar of "I want to fuck you like an animal..."

Praise the gods above, my parents pretended to not be paying attention (la, la, la....head in sand....our daughter is an innocent flower of purity...la, la, la).

I listened to that tape on my walkman day and night for weeks, until he came home.  Eventually the shock from that first listen (I'm pretty sure I blushed crimson for the rest of the evening) wore off, and I began to dissect and over think (like every adolescent girl) the lyrics.  Somehow, I made it our anthem.

And, on the floor of his parent's basement, on a blanket he'd laid out for the purpose...with dozens of pillows...we fucked to that song.

Unfortunately, his younger sister (with the gigantic "tell the entire world everything and then some" mouth) walked in on us.  Though I must commend myself at not succumbing to the instant turn-off of "coitus interruptus".  When she left, we went right back to it.

"Closer" would eventually come to represent the lens the rest of the world had on my sex life - a reminder that nothing is really ever secret for long and that the things we believe to be private rarely ever are.  It also had an openly violent sentiment.

You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you
(Help me...)
I broke apart my insides
(Help me...)
I've got no soul to sell
(Help me...)
The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself,

I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God

You can have my isolation
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith
You can have my everything

(Help me...)
You tear down my reason
(Help me...)
It's your sex I can smell
(Help me...)
You make me perfect
Help me become somebody else

I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God

Through every forest
Above the trees
Within my stomach
Scraped off my knees
I drink the honey, inside your hive...
You are the reason I stay alive...

Interestingly, he was really the first to introduce me to pain (and to the pleasure I acquired from it).  I guess I hadn't made the connection until now, that sending me this song was really probably his attempt at letting me know about his proclivity toward domination.  He was anything but overbearing in daily life. In fact, he was tall and sort of skinny, had shoulder length hair, rather feminine facial features, and defined himself as an artist and musician.  Pretty much the antithesis of "masculine". And I really hadn't thought about this as a possible starting point for my own submissive tendencies, until now.

So, there you have it - an epiphany.

"Closer" was, for all intents and purposes, the theme song for my (not so?) subtle introduction into BDSM...my teenage lover's fingernails digging into the flesh of my back and thighs.  The harder he pushed the more turned on I became.  His teeth in my neck, leaving marks...bruises that would need to be covered by high-necked shirts and scarves.  Scratches that lasted for days.

I had forgotten how much I liked that.  How aroused it made me...and how freaked  out.  I remember feeling a little afraid of the power his touch had over my body and over my psyche.  It wasn't just sexual.  It was mental and emotional.  He indeed violated my own vision of myself (tore down my reason...helped me become somebody else), desecrated my thin wall of innocence, penetrated my body, and complicated my thoughts of sex, and pain, and power.  And to whatever extent a god exists, he certainly got me closer to it.




 This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Check out the site to see who else is being Wicked.

Collared

I just love this picture.  It sums up my marriage in so many ways.

The world of D/s.  It can cause a great deal of confusion.  Even the people who are involved in it and have been for some time disagree on what it is and isn't.  Some say it must involve the standards of BDSM culture (leather, humiliation, pain...), others believe it is something a couple must determine and define for themselves.  I'm of the latter camp.

Some might also find it confusing why a perfectly sane, independent, capable woman would allow herself to be a man's possession.  They argue that giving in to a submissive role in the relationship undermines women's rights or sets us back 60 years on our path to equality.  I'm not sure that they're mutually exclusive though.  Can one not be a feminist and still be submissive by nature, choosing a submissive role in the relationship?  I, personally feel that D/s in no way diminishes the equality of the individuals involved or the respect that they have for one another.

I know, I know...I've read up on the "slave" business.  And I fully understand that those particular set-ups do not need to be based on love or respect or equality.  But they CAN be.  When love is at the center of the relationship, I actually think it is essential.  Honestly...if Mr. LL didn't love and respect me and see me as an equal contributor to our relationship, I wouldn't be as likely to be doing this.  Realistically, I wouldn't even be married to him.  But, as the case is...he does, so...why then am I doing it?

Simple.

Because I like it.

I like being told what to do...by him. I don't particularly like being bossed around by others...though I appreciate clear instructions and expectations from all of my "superiors" and rarely get them that way. I do like being "bossed" by Mr. LL because - it's just plain fucking sexy to have a man take the reigns and "have his way with me."

Several weeks ago, Mr. LL proposed that I wear a collar. Something subtle. Something classy. Something only he and I would really recognize as a symbol of his "ownership" of me. I wasn't sold on the idea right away. We began searching and had a ridiculously hard time agreeing on what it should look like. What he liked and what I liked were on opposite ends of the spectrum.

My Idea

His Idea

Not to mention, I have a sensitive neck. My skin rashes rather easily...and if a collar is too tight, and I sweat...I'm gonna have a red ring around my neck that will be neither sexy nor comfortable. So, I was more interested in looser versions. But, Mr. LL won out (go figure) and ordered a "training collar" of his choosing...just to see if I liked it and to see if it would fit correctly (as it had to be custom made to fit my neck) before shelling out the cash on the more expensive one.

So, he sends me a text today...telling me to look on my pillow when I get home...which I do - the minute I walk in the door.  And inside pink tissue paper bound ribbon, was this...

Navigating the waters of sexual evolution on your own is complicated.  Navigating them with a partner is more so.  All the negotiations.  And that's certainly where we are right now...the negotiation table.  Researching, discussing, researching some more, trying things out, discussing, and coming up with our initial "rules of engagement".

So far...as mentioned last night - we have the beginning stages of a list of rules:

1)  I am not allowed to wear clothing to bed when Mr. LL is home.
2)  When there are no children in the house, I am to wear a dress/skirt/nightgown to allow easy access to my body at all times.
3)  I am to ask for permission before I masturbate.

It's our own brand of D/s.  Like many others who have embraced this "lifestyle"...we are appreciative of our ability to make choices about how to incorporate it in our daily lives.  For example, I will not be called or thought of as a "slave" and it would completely creep me out to call him "Daddy."  And he is not interested (thankfully) in truly hurting or humiliating me.  If this is to be a life choice rather than an occasional role-play tool, we have to be consistent, committed, and open.

I have to admit, it all really appeals to my sense of order.  I can be pretty scatter-brained...and I have to multi-task and organize shit for others all day, every day.  It's nice to have order imposed upon me.  Of course, it's also nice to have a say in those impositions.

Anyhow, confusion is basically the definition of human existence, in my book.  It is a state of being in which we often find ourselves...but also the one that encourages and allows for the most personal growth.  When we are confused and try to work our way out of it, we create new knowledge (at least for ourselves).

I guess that is what Mr. LL and I are doing...working our way through the sea of conflicting information to find our own place of contentment.


This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Click HERE to read the other Wicked interpretations of the prompt: "Confusion".

Instructions (part two)

Read part one HERE.

The sensation was mixed...whatever the item was that he was dragging across her back, it was sharp -- hurting and tickling at the same time.  She squirmed and jerked as he moved the metal over the most sensitive spots on her sides and lower back...and right down the crack of her ass.  She squealed, and her body, involuntarily, jolted...her legs pulling up and her elbows digging into her ribs.

"You're going to have to lie still.  Or I'll be forced to tie you down."

"I can't help it..." she whined.

"You'll have to...or I will do it for you."

"I'll try..." she responded, in a highly unconvincing tone.

"I don't think I can trust you when you sound so unsure of yourself.  Roll over and put your knees up."

She did what he said.

"Now clasp your hands together behind your knees."

She, again, did as he commanded, and felt him wrap her wrists in something with velcro and then connect them with a click.  When her hands were well-secured behind her knees, her ankles suffered the same fate.
Her sex exposed, he began to stroke the outer labia with the backs of his fingers...then ran them between her pussy lips, spreading them like a curtain.

She let out her breath slowly and dramatically as he did the same between her legs.  A rivulet of moisture slipped out of her and dripped onto the sheet, disappearing beneath her ass.

"Ahhh...I see that someone is enjoying herself already..."

"Yes..." she whispered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir..."

"That's a good girl. I like it when you're wet for me."

He flicked his tongue across her clit a few times and then took it between his teeth, gently, and began to suck it hard...until she squealed.

"Stop!  I can't handle it anymore..."

"Yes.  You can.  And you will."  He went back to it, until she was nearly in tears, her ankles and wrists straining against their confines.  He'd left the penetration for last, wanted her nether mouth wet and gaping, hungry for him...desperate.  He slipped one finger into her, just to the second knuckle.

"Tell me how much you want it."

"I want it...please...I want you to shove it in deep..."

"Keep going..."

"Two fingers, three...your whole fucking hand...your cock, I want you buried in me, fucking me so hard the wetness splashes all over our thighs..."  she spat the words out in near-angry frustration.

"That's better."  He slipped the whole finger, slowly and methodically twisting it in and out, careful to graze her g-spot on every entrance and exit.  Her hips rotated and bucked to meet him, trying to hurry him, but he resisted, taking his time.

"Please, Sir...I need to be fucked..."  a small, pleading voice.

"Oh, you'll be fucked...when I'm damned good and ready."

She wimpered, defeated, and sighed like a balloon losing all of its air.  He continued to play, teasing her with his one finger, pulling it out and tracing the outside of her lips, the inside, the clit, the slit, and then down...down...to her tight, puckered little anus.  He knew it made her uncomfortable...but he also knew she liked it.  Already well-lubed by her own juices, he eased his finger slowly into her asshole.

"You like that don't you, you dirty, little whore?"

"Yes, sir..." she breathed, her cheeks blazing.

"Roll over."

It took some maneuvering, and he didn't help her at all with her struggle.  She squirmed and fidgeted her way onto her knees, her face and neck jammed into the bed, her wrists and ankles still secured.

"Such a beautiful pussy..." he purred from behind her.  He licked it, sucked on it, made it drip.

"Beg me to fuck you."

"Please, Sir...I want your...I need your cock in me - I need to feel you explode in me...use me..."  She was breathless, almost tearful, pleading for relief.  Her pussy was throbbing.  Should could hear him unbuttoning his jeans, could feel his shirt lifting up on her ass, as he unceremoniously shoved his cock balls deep into her without warning.  She screamed with the shock...the intensity of it.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow...."  The calmness of his words belied his body's actions -- forceful and furious.  He reached down and grabbed her hair, pulling it back to force her ass up to greet him even more readily.  He pounded into her, his pelvic bones slamming into her ass, their skin slapping together...

His demands pushed through clenched teeth, almost a groan, "Come, bitch....I want you to come...I want to feel you dripping and gushing...I want to hear you scream..." 

And she did just that.  All over his thighs.  And as she did, his hot come exploded into her, mixing with hers to create a thick, creamy mess of her red and swollen pussy.  He let go of her hair and pulled out of her slowly so that he could watch the come spill out of her onto the sheets in front of him.

"Now thank me."

"Thank you, Sir."

"For what?"

"For fucking me, Sir...for making me come...for coming inside of me."

He smacked her ass one more time for good measure, leaving a vibrant, red hand print on her ass.

"Good, girl.  I'll let you free after I have a quick shower."

And there she was, left in the dark, sweaty and dripping with come.  Alone...and vulnerable, knowing full well that if she moved, there would be sweet, beautiful hell to pay.

.

Instructions

It hung there, unopened, creamy white and expectant in midair.  An unmarked envelope tied to a string over the kitchen counter.

She sat down her work things, piled her keys and purse on the counter, slipped off her blazer and placed it over the dining room chair.

With a smile that betrayed her prudence, she took hold of the envelope and detached it from the string that held it.  Placing her finger under the flap, running it along the length, she split the paper slowly and gently, exposing a folded card, which she dislodged from its encasement and flipped open.

Take off your clothes, right where you are.  Leave them folded, neatly on the counter.  Pour yourself a glass of wine, grab your cell phone, and take them both to the bedroom.  Push play on the CD player, and prop yourself up in the middle of the bed.  Slowly play with yourself - without penetration - while you enjoy your glass of wine.  

I will be watching your every move.

She licked her lips as her cheeks brightened to a hotter shade of pink.  But she placed the note on the counter and proceeded to follow the instructions, almost laughing to herself.  This was all so new...the instructions...the obedience...the possibility of punishment or reward.  

She slipped out of her black pumps, reached her arms behind her back to unzip her sheath dress, and stepped out of it, careful not to leave it in a heap on the floor at her feet.  The folded dress in a neat pile on the counter, the turned her attention to her nylons, peeling them down over her hips and ample rear, rolling them down her thighs, her knees, and finally stepped out of them, placing them beside the folded dress on the counter.  Left in nothing but her plain black bra and panties, she licked her lips, glanced at the bar to consider the wine selection, and finished her disrobing.  Folding her lingerie neatly on top of her dress, she walked to the bar, selected a glass, and poured it half full.  She grabbed her cell phone on her way back through the kitchen and made her way to the bedroom.

As she was told to do, she pressed play on the CD player, and climbed onto the bed.  Placing her wine glass on the nightstand, she began moving pillows around to create a backrest against the headboard.  A second envelope was hidden beneath the last one.

Once again, she smiled, a bit sheepishly, as she slid her finger under the flap and released its contents.

Place your phone beside you and wait for my texts.  Light a candle, enjoy the music and the wine.  But mostly, enjoy yourself.  Remember, however...you are not to penetrate your opening.  It must remain untouched for me.

She lit the candle on the nightstand, placed her phone on the bed, turned off the light, closed the door, and found her way to the middle of the bed.  Situating herself, she took her wine glass into her left hand, and let her right hand slide between her bent and spread legs.

With her finger circling her clitoris, slowly keeping time with the music, she took a long sip of her wine and began to wonder just how he could be watching her.  A camera?  She glanced around the room, letting her eyes linger in places that looked suspect.  No rustling or breathing emanated from the closet, so he couldn't be spying on her from there.

The phone began to vibrate, and the screen lit up with a text notification icon.

She took her hand away from herself and tapped the text button, leaving a trace of moisture on the screen that made her bite her lip and giggle silently to herself.

Keep your mind on what you are doing.  Stop worrying about where I am.

She flushed at the reprimand and placed her hand back between her legs.  Like a good girl, she closed her eyes, took another swallow of wine, and worried about nothing but pleasuring herself.

Swirling her fingers, rubbing her entire palm across the heat of her sex, grinding the pad of her thumb into her clit.  She grew wet with desire and began to squirm, her wine sloshing in the glass, dangerously close to spilling over the edge.  A whimper collected in the back of her throat, releasing to the tone of the cell phone's vibration.

Not yet.  Slow down.  I didn't tell you that you could come.

She sighed and rolled her eyes like a petulant child, pouting.  A whispered expletive escaped her mouth and was met by a third vibration from her phone.

Is that a bit of an attitude I sense?  Apparently someone needs a little discipline.  Put the blindfold on and roll on to your stomach in the middle of the bed.  Spread your arms and legs wide.

She did as she was told.  Expectant and nervous.  In the blackness, she heard the front door open and close, heavy footsteps crossing the living room floor, into the kitchen.  She held her breath, unintentionally, as the bedroom doorknob turned and the door squeaked as it opened.  Cold fingers slid across her back, down her spine, and then...

The swooshing sound was quick, but she braced herself knowing what would follow.  the crack of his palm meeting with the skin of her behind reverberated - echoing in the room.  She winced and whimpered a little.

"It is early, yet..." he said.  "There are so many things I want to do to you."

She heard the clicking of a suitcase or briefcase being opened...the clinking of metal...and then felt the icy sensation of it pressing against her skin...

To be continued...

Click HERE for PART 2