At the Centre of his Web
There comes a point in many relationships where both partners know exactly how the other will react to being touched in a certain way. In the intimate way. You know how the other will move to accommodate, fight or submit to you depending on their reaction, both verbal and visual. For instance, I know that if I snuggle up against Mister with my back to him and press my back against his front, he’ll soon be a lot more awake than he seemed to be in about a couple of minutes. I also know that if I’m giving him a hand-job or going down on him (on the rare occasion that happens – I really should do that more and not just when the painters are in or I’m pissed so much I roll about hilariously whilst doing it) and he starts tensing up and closing his eyes in deep concentration, he is pretty close to going over the top.
The same is true for Mister. He knows me very well. My body responds to certain touches in certain areas – he knows that kissing the back of my neck delicately is a sure-fire hit to get things started, the same with stroking my thighs. Quite universal responses in general when it comes to turning people on and gauging their stamina. Then sometimes, Mister will turn things around and get me unawares with his tricksy ways quite wonderfully.
Like the other night.
Already feeling a little sleepy after a long, hard day on the grind, I was happily drifting into a state of drowsiness. This was my first trap to fall in. Along comes Mister and lay down beside me and little Miss Muffet here gets all cuddly to snuggle down to sleep. My spider had other plans. After a request for me to lie atop of him as is our wont from time to time to have squished hugs from one another, my natural response is to start kissing him; it’s like a reflex action. Second trap. Before I know it, his hands are snaking downwards and back up over my back, sides and bottom and move up into my hair. Good god, I go crazy for this. One of my very erogenous zones, I love it when he strokes my hair and go wild even if he ever-so-slightly starts to tug or pull at strands. Mmmm. I was lost in this moment. But the tricksy part was yet to come.
That night we had turned out the lights and frequently when we do this, I have noticed that we will position ourselves sitting up, me astride him. *I like this position* (lots and lots), especially if it’s dark, as it promotes extra-sensory/heightened feeling of each others’ hands over our skin. I also like it as my breasts look their best in their natural position and not flattened from gravity as in when lying down. I’m not the biggest of girls. A nice handful so I’m informed. Any bigger and it wouldn’t suit my slim frame. Mister being a boobs-and-bum guy will take advantage of this position and pays great attention to these areas. Wonderful. I do so like it when he nibbles my nipples. Anayway, when we adopt this position, my legs are apart comfortably at either side of his body, thus giving him *full* access to my nether regions. Lucky guy.
So Mister, using this position to its advantage, worked his fingers to their full potential there on this evening. And here we reach the crux of his (possibly unconscious, but soon realised) scheme. With my legs around him, in that position, I can’t fight him off or close my legs easily when it gets too much for me if he goes crazy on my clitoris. I don’t know what it is about me, but there comes a moment when I just can’t take any more pleasure – he really works me hard sometimes. Sigh. I shouldn’t complain; in fact I am very grateful and exhilarated to have the skillful partner that I do in Mister.
I have to admit that this position is also very good for mutual hand-jobs that have a more sensual mood to them. Being face to face at close quarters breathing hard and fast, both of us getting to that moment where each breath ascends into becoming ragged and hesitant before that final missed breath before climax. Sigh once more.
It’s now been almost a week since that night, and I’m going home tomorrow. I sent him an email whilst feeling all coquettish (and slightly frisky):
“Remember that I will make much sweeter sounds than your new toy”
I think I might revisit this position at the weekend, but for more than just a hand-job.
I’m not going to get a inch of work done, am I?
She’s in Trouble
I have competition.
This is new for me. I’ve never felt so threatened by someone else in Mister’s sphere.
And they will have more contact with him when I am away in the City.
And they’re blonde. (Nothing against blondes, but this one has the attentions of my Mister. Being a brunette, my rivalry receptors are awakened)
There is not much I can do. Mister has even said that he thinks extremely highly of this newcomer.
I am worried.
Has he a new love in his life? I always knew I had possible competitors for his affection, but never have I felt the need to actually be perturbed so much.
I found a picture of this intruder on the internet. Here is my rival.
Help!
Poly want a Cracker?
I am not normally one to comment on the drab world of celebrity, but I have come across two genuinely interesting actors in the past couple of months that have caught my eye. They’re Brits, and they’re both separately involved with more than one long-term partner. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Sir Michael Gambon and Tilda Swinton. The former arguably more notable than the other, although Ms. Swinton has had her better celluloid moments – and has consequently just won best supporting actress at the Oscars.
When it comes to multiple partners here we have a subject that piques, confuses, puzzles, titillates and alarms me in a rather combustible mix. I wouldn’t know where to start with something like this if I were to be confronted with it in the real world outside this cosy haven of naughtiness. Especially if I were personally confronted with it. Mister is the sole man who has had the marvellous experience of sleeping with me; and whilst I don’t want to ever be without him, I am left rather curious on the rare occasion to wonder what it would be like to be intimate with another person. But not a guy – they freak me out. So that leaves me with…women…hmm…Oh well. Us ladies are supposed to be bisexual anyway!
Does that make me a really bad girlfriend, or merely human? I am not sure. And I hope that Mister isn’t worried about my musings if he happens to read this post. (- You’ve got nothing to be alarmed about, honey x) What I am sure about is that I know that I couldn’t possibly share Mister with another woman. For one thing I would be terribly jealous – even if (as in certain polyamorous relationships) there was to be some arrangement of hierarchy. Which I wouldn’t like anyway being a stalwart of equality in a relationship. Mister may master me at times when the desire/moment calls for it, and vice-versa, but as a from a holistic view, we’re on a pretty even standing. The feeling is reversed if it were me in an extra relationship with another person – male or female. I know that Mister would be against the idea (having had ‘The Threesome Chat’) and I don’t particularly fancy it either.
So when I hear about these relationships, like those of the two actors above, I do wonder: How exactly do they do it? I know that as a race human beings aren’t naturally programmed to stay with one sexual partner for their entire lives – the male libido sees to that – and the testosterone levels in women augmenting their sex-drive too. Our natural drive is to promote the succession of our genes through procreation, and thus we have affairs, a number of different sexual partners, and so on. Yet we can quite happily and satisfyingly live with one partner for over half a century or more at times. Does that mean they are less sexually focused, or that those who are seeking sex elsewhere are simply still looking for ‘the one’, albeit unconsciously?
Like I said, I cannot even begin to understand those who are able to enter into these arrangements, even though what I do understand is that all parties involved are generally happy with what they have going on (check out Goose and Gander’s blog - but then that brings into question, is it still polyamory if just one partner is in another relationship – I don’t know, can anyone clarify it for me? Please!)
As you can probably guess. I am not well-versed in this topic. But it does intrigue me. But I think this kitty could get crushed by her curiosity if she were to explore it personally. For those who are successful at this type of relationship they obviously have much better multi-tasking skills than me for one thing! And their emotional and inter-personal skills must be through the roof. Maybe it’s something I need to be a little more mature in my years to fully contemplate. But certainly, I know that in my relationship with Mister that will be all it will need to be. *My* relationship with *Mister*. Just the two of us and no one else. Taking on the world together.
Bring it on.
[Except there seems to be a certain amount of competition from some blonde, or so I am warned by Mister. More of that to follow.]
‘She that makes me sin awards me pain’, Part One
~ Well, well my dear cohorts, I thought it was time for me to enter the foray of fiction at last. This is part of a story I have been working on in my head for a while now. It’s based on a little fantasy of mine. I thought I better start with one of the tamer ones to begin with. I’m planning on stretching this out over a few posts. Let me know what you think, I’m all ears. Enjoy x ~
A car pulls up on the roadside, a little way from the house. The passenger door opens and a shadowy figure emerges, thanks the driver and walks silently, sleekly up the short drive.
She has arrived fifteen minutes earlier than planned. Purposefully. She knows that he will still be in the shower, and that she has about five minutes to prepare herself. Raising her slender hand, she opens the unlocked front door. No-one else is home and the area is rural enough to feel safe leaving doors unattended like this. Hearing the CD player on full-blast in the bathroom above, she smiles quietly to herself knowing that her lover is unaware of her presence. So with no need to creep around for fear of discovery, she climbs the stairs confident in her pace.
Her slender frame walks along the corridor to the bedroom. His room. Opening the door she inhales the unmistakable scent of man in his own, private environment. It is not unpleasant like that of hormonal teenagers. More musky, earthy and primal. She takes in a breath, becoming heady with its power. Once more she smiles to herself, thinking that her own unique aroma shall fill this space for the remainder of the night, intermingling with his, mirroring the entwining limbs that will occur in the near future.
She is brought back to herself as the music suddenly ceases making her realise she has only a few moments before her man enters his domain, to be confronted with his lady before him. She quickly places her bag of the night’s provisions in a place close at hand should she desire to delve into its contents of binding implements, handcuffs, massage oil and other kinky paraphernalia should she wish to use them depending on the behaviour of her subject. She has dressed specially for this occasion. Wearing her best black peep-toe heels, she had decided earlier in the evening to use this opportunity to show off her new seamed stockings, and boy did they look good with those lines leading up to her thighs and beyond. Ensuring that the lines were straight, she bunched up the coat around her to hide the fact that she was wearing very little indeed underneath.
Placing herself in the middle of the good-sized bedroom, she coyly moved a few strands of her hair over one side of her face, knowing this to be one of her partner’s sizzling points. She heard the bathroom door unlock at the furthest end of the corridor and her man’s footsteps bounding along the way towards her. She saw the handle turn as he came into the room. She saw him stop suddenly as he came to terms with the fact that she was here, waiting for him. She saw him open his mouth to say something, only to stifle it by raising her finger to her lips and move towards him and whisper, ‘Shhh,’ as she looked up from her dark, shadowy eyes at his awestruck face.
‘No need for words just yet, my love. Listen to what I say and don’t question me,’ she said melodiously but with a hint of danger in her voice.
He instantly closed his mouth and replaced his quizzical look with a wry smile and glint in his eyes. The thought of the booked table completely left his thoughts, his mind whizzing with the new possibilities the evening now held.
‘Now, move over to the chair, and sit with your hands behind your back,’ his girl now said to him. A definite switch from the syrupy tone previously to a more directorial one. One he knew from past experience not to dither with the instructions it held.
He walked and sat on the chair as told, eagerly awaiting her next move.
~ Part Two & Part Three ~
He holds her with his glittering eye
It is a common adage that eyes are the windows to the soul. From a single look you can interpret a person’s mood, state of alertness, and intentions. They captivate and perhaps above all, attract. For many people, eyes are the top answer when asked what they look for in their prospective partners and it is because of the connection it seems to have with our inner selves. The unconscious-at-times and deliberate-at-others actions and movements we make with our eyes seem to reveal personality and attitude. Eyes are mucho sexy.
I have issues with eye contact. Which is silly. I have lovely eyes, with nicely applied swishy eyeliner, but what do I do most of the time? I often avoid it - apart from with family, friends and Mister, of course. But when I go to town shopping I seem to prevent myself from looking directly at people – at the till for example, or at generally walking around. I often ask myself why is it that I do this and have come to the conclusion it is the submissive side to me.
My Mister’s eyes are one one my particularly favourite aspects about him. A single glance has the ability to make me giggle, can contain everything that he could ever put into words about his feelings for me, and it could certainly put me in my submissive frame of mind in an instant. *Arguably* something that comes naturally easy for some men, and the non-verbal codes, gestures, and attitudes put across through looks alone are very potent.
There have been a number of occasions when I was *supposed* to be in charge and he will come metaphorically prancing along and shatter that idea half-way through with one of his ‘looks’. I guess that just proves I’m not naturally sexually dominant. When moments like these occur, my plans and schemes are put out to pasture and it’s hard to get back into the driving seat. Which is terribly annoying.
A similar moment will happen when, after really teasing his body, I untie him (if that’s how I was playing it) and he is all instinctive and animal-like and can’t help but pounce on me with his now-free hands and lips; or he rolls me over to pin me underneath him. In that instance as well as when Mister gives me that look I completely turn to jelly and melt under his gaze. My steel-like coy mistress withers into a pliant and submissive receiver to his desires. And it is usually at close quarters. Centimetres apart, he will look me directly in the eyes, perhaps with an eyebrow slightly raised or small smile on his lips, and I know I’ve lost and I am lost. To him. Entirely.
It is almost as if he is challenging me. No wait, in fact it is him challenging me! And bloody winning too! Argh. Note to self: Don’t fall for his charms so easily. You may want to submit to all his desires, but it’s the principle of the thing! He’s too good. Once again, he’s a devil. Devilishly good at it too. I may have to start dominating him blindfolded. Well, I know my way around him (in the physical sense) pretty well after our years together, might give it a go.
But then it is such good fun to have him look up at me with that hesitant look on his face whilst I contemplate my next move. Oh, I can’t win!
Pandorah’s Checklist Revisited
Items ticked off checklist: Predictably, numbers 2, 3 and 4. Number 1 didn’t get much of a look in past the getting home bit.
Work done: None, zilch, nada.
Useless points: A gazillion (whoo).
At least some quality time was spent with family and Mister. Which in the grand scale of things *has* to be the more substantial point over the doing work bit. Isn’t it? Yes?
In fact some very good quality time was had with Mister. The Valentine’s event was all rather fluffy and sweet this year - we elected to stay in and cook a three course meal together and it was a yummy success! Mister did all the chopping and peeling and helped to construct the starter with me. Such diplomats we are. We even cooperated over the washing up.
Seriously, we work too well as a pairing sometimes. I mean, we’ve never had an argument (by that I mean a proper full blown angry one) in all our time as a couple. Touch wood. I guess we are of similar temperaments and don’t see the point of getting worked up enough to blow them out of proportion leading to eruptions.
We followed our dinner with some scrummy desert of our own making in his bedroom. Naturally. He had dressed up for me for the dinner by getting all smart and sexy in a shirt, which made me smile no end when I turned up at his after getting ready in my own smart-ish long asymmetrical skirt and heels. And stockings of course. It wouldn’t be Valentine’s without the stockings now, would it? Pretty ones with ribbons at the sides and all! (That look terribly gorgeous and hot after some rolling around and wandering hands treatment so the bows come undone of their own accord)
I tried something new as well - we made love* whilst I was wearing his shirt. Oh, that was strangely good. I love how his clothes hang on me: the sleeves dangling down so I have to bunch them around my elbows; being able to be so engulfed by a simple cotton shirt; at a convenient length so it covers all that requires it, but is still too short to be decent. Delectably arousing.
Now I am returned to the world of coursework and mental fatigue without the lovely Mister to tire me physically. I know I will have trouble sleeping tonight after having another warm body next to mine for the past week.
*As an aside: Why does the term ‘made love’ always seem not quite right? For some reason I go cold whenever I write it out or speak it when not in the heat of the moment. And even then it’s not always right. Mister gets away with saying it alright if we’re getting down to it, but I never feel comfortable with it. Now what does that say about me? Goodness knows.
All Hail The Humble Cranberry!
Sometimes I really do wish Mister wasn’t so eager to please me. He is just too good at it as well. If that is a feasible excuse. Probably not.
Ok, Ok I am wonderfully happy that he knows where the clitoris is and how best to get me going (usually just breathing lightly on the back of my neck can be enough), but a girl can’t handle all that pleasure, all at once, all in one area! She needs a break now and then from the onslaught of adoration – at least I do at any rate. I have talked previously about how good he is at ‘breaking me’, sending me over the edge just too many times; multiples can be hell on your back muscles! I appreciate why he does it though. He loves to see me, hear me, feel me climax and keeps on going usually until *he* gets tired (fingers/wrist). The devil.
Leaving me literally speechless after these efforts, from physical exhaustion, a state of bliss and wonderment at his prowess, I do love what he does to me, but there are repercussions! The afternoon after the night before is when it can occur. He’s worked me so hard, I get a mild burney sensation akin to cystitis - Ouch. And I tend to discover this when I am in the middle of something that I can’t escape from to go and find the remedy so I have to sit rather uncomfortably for an hour or so until I can run to the nearest purveyor of the holy grail and saviour of our lady of the burning fire, Cranberry Juice! Ahhh….
Now. I am not suggesting that it is the cure for true cystitis, for that you *must* go see your GP and get some marvellous medicine. But as a temporary solution it is a life-saver. Such rapid pain relief too. So girls, take heed if you are in similar situations and don’t know about cranberry juice.
Deus Ex Machina
Probably not the best phrase to explain what today’s little exploration is about, but the general theme is there. Basically a Latin phrase to describe giving an unnatural conclusion to a story or situation by outside forces, I am using it for my purposes to describe the modern preoccupation with battery-assisted devices in sex. Vibrators, stimulators, cock-rings – those kind of things, you know?
So then, vibrators – help or hindrance? Of course we know they don’t hinder the actual obtaining of an orgasm, but is it to the cost of truly knowing ourselves? A quick fix solution? I have heard of women who have gone their whole lives without having an orgasm, unable by themselves or their partner to be brought to that glorious peak, crest and fall of a climax then one day discover a new friend in their Rabbit or similar contraption – these are not the people I am thinking of. For them, I whole-heartedly support their endeavours to find what suits them.
I am trying to get to the nub of the thing with those women (and men, I assume) who are happily capable of climaxing unaided, but become addicted to toys of a buzzy nature. It can start with a curiosity and lead to some safely anonymous purchasing online or perusal and execution of sale in an Ann Summers shop to satisfy that curiosity. All fairly content there. It can start with a gift from a close friend who shares your intimate secrets, or from a lover to explore together and lead to some fairly powerful orgasms. Such slaves we are to power in all forms – we become heady with this power and want more, each time to outdo the last, more frequently to experience its thrall over us. And then we are trapped in a cycle.
Do I go too far? Do I overestimate the strength of what is basically nothing more than battery-operated bit of plastic? Perhaps. But surely you can’t deny having that whoosh of discovery and awe after your first ‘assisted’ orgasm? (Guys, do tell me what your experiences are, if any, concerning these contraptions)
Personally, I don’t tend to use anything except my own lovely self for the majority of the time, but once in a while I fancy treating myself by delving into my drawer. And that’s what it is, a treat. Not a dependence, a reliance on something to make me go wilder than is usual. But then it happens – that familiar twinge of temptation to use it more often. Soon I may find myself using only my little stimulator when alone. It’s so easy, so simple to placate the need and reach into my bag (god, I’ve actually started to carry it around in my handbag) to take it out and use.
Happily I have not as yet succumbed to the cycle. I may need to have a detox soon. But the question still remains: Is it wrong to depend on a fabricated orgasm when it can be ten times as powerful? Is it an artificial climax, that unnatural conclusion, if you can no longer Do It Yourself? Once more, answers on a postcard please.
Revenge Never Tasted So Sweet
The joy of having Mister visit me will never cease. After about a two week stint of enforced abstinence he came over to my place in the City. It is much more difficult from my personal point of view if in a relationship to go without sex than when single as you can get used to it when you are on your lonesome. If you do have a partner, you easily get settled into a routine of cuddles and kisses and you notice it all the more if you have some time apart. When I was single (gosh seems a long time ago now) I didn’t tend to long for the caress of an intimately familiar hand as much as I do now and feel the pangs of its absence very strongly.
I thought I would make myself as alluring as I could and opted for a skirt, knowing he likes such things and I find them quite sultry at times – it brings out the Inner Minx all together more quickly. I also plumped for my brand spanking new seamed tights (I know, I know, not nearly as sexy as stockings/hold-ups, but a girl has to make do at short notice) and they managed a very warm reception from their intended prey. Any excuse to have him feeling up my legs, especially my thighs and I’ll jump at the chance! I purposefully left the front door unlocked so he could discover me in a sultry pose across the bed.
But as plans tend to unfold, things often go awry. The little excited pixie inside got the better of me, and I leapt up to greet him as he entered the flat and gave him a big cheesy grin and kiss. I really do despair at myself at times. Anyway, after getting him fed and watered (me skipping about the kitchen deliriously happy to have him there, prone to bursting into a giggle) we settled back upstairs in my room and things soon turned a little steamier. Yum.
I quite like to unsettle Mister with my seducing techniques, you know, keep him on his toes not knowing what to expect next – that kind of thing. Often I do this by pausing halfway through something, for example massaging his feet, to look at him with a glint in my eye and change tack. In this case with the feet, usually to run a nail up his insole to send a large shiver through him – very sensitve feet he has. And this time I positioned him in my chair constantly pausing and changing tack, especially behind him where he couldn’t see my movements and what I was doing. Just to mess with him (’cause I’m a cruel playful thing sometimes) I like to silently move about behind him to unnerve him so when he looks to see where I am, the next time he does this I’ve completely changed position without him hearing me move - gets Mister every time, such fun! Little things please little minds, hey?
I did not use any gadgets or accessories this time, no scarves, handcuffs, candle wax or the like, partly because I got carried away, and partly for the reason that I just wanted it to be me alone tantalising him, without aids. The problem with getting carried away is that I am easily overcome if he fancies taking charge, which of course he did after about half an hour to 45 mins of LadyP time. But hey, who cares? I had my fun, slowly stripping off layer by layer in front, around and behind him; playing with his skin, draping my nails across his back – I think I even nipped with my teeth on his hips at some point which caught him out.
One thing I do like to do is to undress him. There is such pleasure in undressing a man, we both know why I’m doing it and half the fun is in taking your time over it, making him wait just that little longer – take the belt off but leave the trousers for another five minutes. And once he is naked, stand back and stare. Bliss. Utter bliss. Drinking in the image of his naked body, with his visual sign of his arousal standing to attention, there’s nothing quite like it.
It all makes up for the fact that he’s gone and taken me by surprise twenty minutes later and now having his turn for fun under his own terms.
Pandorah’s Checklist
Right, this is what I must get done in the week ahead:
1) Go home and do work over the half-term week off – Well…I’m half-way to getting this one ticked off, I’m home at least. I’ll get round to the ‘work’ bit at some point. Honest.
2) Go to town and hunt around for suitable Valentine’s presents – I can triumphantly tick this one off 
Yay me! Me and Mister have experienced a few of these commercial rip-off days together now, and we seem to switch from all loved-up and cutsy to being a little silly to downright raunchy. Last year I sent him a rose via the post after feeling all sniffly to discover I wouldn’t be able to spend the day/weekend with him due to final-year coursework also being due the Monday after – you’d think universities would get their calendar priorities straight! So this year I’ve opted for a compromise. I have bought something raunchy, and something that I know he has been after for a while (can’t go into detail due to Mister being one of my regular visitors here!).
3) Spend time with family, filling them in on my exploits (academic exploits, that is) – Can’t really escape this one as I am staying at my parents’ house. I seem to have begun calling it that rather than ‘our house’. I’m trying to get myself organised and move out this summer and ideally move in with Mister to a place of our very own. I’ve been casually dropping it into jokey conversation (i.e. ‘Oh, it’ll be great when we have our own place, we won’t have to worry about creaking springs and keeping the noise down then!’ etc.) with him for about a year and a half now to get him used to the idea – he also hasn’t fledged and flown the nest yet. I think he’s not as daunted now and has even procured a vacuum cleaner for us. And to add to the spending time with family gig, I have already been booked for two rounds of babysitting for nieces. Nice to know I still have my uses.
4) Get some rest and relaxation before the next heavy stress-laden months ahead until June – There’s no way I am going to turn down the chance at some morning lie-ins, afternoon rolls with Mister and pottering about my terribly sweet and picture postcard-esque home town in the middle of the countryside. I have already had a wonderful Sunday lunch with the parents, and some ‘personal time’ to myself in my room with a new wotsit (shaped like a long bullet and buzzes like there is a trapped, very pissed off wasp inside it – bliss!) that I was lured into buying at the counter of Ann Summers. God, they have good sales-girls in there.
Let’s see how things progress…
