Thursday, November 28, 2013
On this Thanksgiving Day, and beyond....
May we all be truly thankful for the goodness in our lives - our families, friends, jobs, and joy, our homes, health, pets and prosperity;
May we all focus on bringing joy to those we love rather than nurturing our own wants;
May we all make room in our hearts for forgiveness so we can let go of resentments for harms of the past;
May we all find a way to be of service to others as a way of living our gratitude;
May we all release any guilt or regret so we and those we love can thoroughly enjoy this day;
May we all take some time to search our hearts and reflect on all the love that surrounds and enfolds us. May we be grateful for that most of all.
To all readers of PWK,
Many of you are friends, some have been lovers, one of you still is. ;-) Whether you commented and engaged with our community or chose to simply lurk, please know that I am so grateful for all of you over the past several years. PWK has been a place where I can share who I am without conforming to who I need to pretend to be in the rest of my life. I've shared highs and lows, and connected with people here who have become very important to me. I don't say it enough, so I'll say it now.....
Monday, November 25, 2013
So I turned to my good friend SomewhereMan. Now, I've never experienced his prowess, but I've heard reports that he really knows what he's doing. Here's his contribution to the cause.
When Kat asked me for a man's perspective on "going down", I jumped at the chance. Not too quickly nor too eagerly, of course, but with care and concern.
Most women know they love it when their man (or men) go down on them. Yet what works best? How would they recommend a man proceed? I know how I love my rod getting sucked but I'm not exactly in a position where I can get on my knees or give a hummer from the passenger seat on a long, country drive.
There was once a time where I was convinced that a man who was an expert in oral sex on a woman would never lose that woman. Well... I've found that isn't true. But a woman will allow more latitude if her man is complete, sensual and determined to make her cum.
Over and over.
A Man's Guide To Giving Great "Clit".
Watch Porn But Remember The Individual. This is critical for each guy. We all want to think that we're Peter North and can dig in with four women at a time. Even Peter knows that each woman is a little...different. I look back on my lovers over the past three years. Some loved having their asshole licked. Others tightened up as my tongue advanced to that region. Some wanted the "tongue on clit/two fingers inside" extra value meal. Others just wanted their clit sucked. There is no "one style fits all".
Eye Contact. I can't stress this enough. While you're digging in, keep plenty of eye contact with her. She'll bit her bottom lip and, perhaps, pinch her nipples. The eye contact is the silent affirmation of her beauty. Women work hard to look good for us. They give up rich food. They do that yoga bullshit. Eye contact doesn't cost anything but always pays off.
Let Her Know Time Doesn't Matter. I do have a slight issue when I'm in the "receiving" position. Out of my natural concern for others, I try not to take too long to climax. I don't want her having to suck on me for 20 minutes because I don't want her to have a sore throat and busted wrists. Yet, for a woman that I love (and I've been in "love" through my prowling), I would go down for an hour - or more - if that's what they wanted. Never sigh while you're licking. Purr a little bit. Moan with her.
Thighs Are Your Friends. Work them gently. Make her goosebumps pop and her body tingle without even touching the goody box. This is where a woman finds her peaceful "raft", where the troubles and the stress of her day just melt away like lemon drops.
Make Oral Sex The Main Course. Don't treat it as foreplay. Treat it as the main dish. You'll get the actual sex later and it will be incredibly hot and wet.
Women, by nature, are extremely self-conscious about their bodies. Many never allow themselves to reach an orgasm out of this worry. Do whatever you can to make her feel comfortable and the beautiful woman that she is.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Friday, November 22, 2013
He told me stories of going to their home once a week or so to play with her while her husband watched. That part sounded a bit strange to me at the time, but whatever. Just as it started to sound like he was telling me that he planned to continue his weekly field trips, he asked if I would be willing to join in and do a swap with them.
At first, I balked, not because I minded the idea of a swap - I'd done that before - but because of the thought that I'd be getting the short end of the stick, so to speak. I'd met the couple once before, and my soon-to-be-Hubby was much more attractive than her very overweight, balding, yellow-toothed husband. When we swapped, she (let's call her Susan) would be getting my tall, athletic, gorgeous man and I'd be getting, well, let's call him Bud. On the flip side of the deal, my man would get Susan, who was not at all unattractive and they already had some chemistry together. Bud would get me - a slim 23 year old with long golden brown hair, perfect teeth and perky tits. While I know it makes me sound shallow to say this, it seemed to me like everyone would be a winner in that swap except for me.
Hubby (we weren't married yet, but I'll call him that anyway) knew I was reluctant, but he won me over when he said I could play with Susan, too. I've always been a fan of large breasts and Susan's were very big and very lovely. I really wanted to touch them, suck them,and play with them so I agreed. Hubby set it up for that weekend.
When the day arrived, I was nervous. Would I be jealous seeing Hubby with another woman? Would I be able to pretend to be interested in Bud? I told Hubby about my concerns and he dismissed them. He told me not to think so much. Ha! He didn't yet know that thinking is all I do. Still, he had a point.
We went over to their house and had dinner before playtime. It was nice. We laughed. I relaxed. While Bud wasn't much to look at, he was funny and very easy to talk to. I could see what Susan saw in him.
After dinner, Bud suggested we go out on the back patio and get in their hot tub. I felt relieved. I've always loved hot tub sex.
We went outside and the air was cool. The hot tub was already warmed up and bubbling. When did Bud do that? I wondered. It didn't matter, but it was kind of weird. I saw Susan start to take her clothes off, so I did, too. I was naked first because all I was wearing was a sundress and panties. I threw my clothes on a chair and slid into the hot tub. Susan sat on the edge with her legs dangling in the water. Frankly, I'm not sure what Hubby and Bud were doing because my eyes were stuck on Susan. Her breasts were more beautiful than I had imagined - shaped like large melons and still very firm, not droopy. Her skin was nearly perfect.
Hubby was behind me then and he whispered in my ear that I could go touch her. I'm glad he did because if he hadn't, I would have sat there staring for much longer. I stood on the step in the water and she spread her legs so I could come between them and get closer. She pulled me to her and kissed me. It was a deep, wet, lovers kiss. As we kissed, I reached my hands up to touch her breasts. As I touched her, we both moaned. I heard Bud groan to the side of us. That's when I noticed that Bud was on one side of us watching and Hubby was on the other.
I fondled her breasts and we kissed for what seemed like a long time. I was perfectly happy with that and probably could have just done that for the night, but then she broke from our kiss and put her hands on my head, very gently nudging my head downward. I found a nipple and started sucking on it fiercely. She gasped. I pinched one and sucked on the other, then I changed it around. I was perfectly happy with that and probably could have just done that for the night, but then she put her hands on my head again, very gently nudging my head downward. I held onto her thighs and knelt on the step and started licking her pussy. It was trimmed, not shaved, and very wet. I found her clit and started flicking it with my tongue as I slid a finger inside her.
It was then that I noticed Hubby was out of the water and that he had taken my place sucking on her tits. I focused on her clit, which was very stiff by then. I hadn't had much experience with women at all, so I really didn't know what to do with it. I flicked it for a while, then I sucked on it. I'd read once about using your tongue to trace the letters of the alphabet on it, so I did that, too.
I was only on the letter M when I felt Bud's hands on my hips, lifting them up, making my legs straight so I was standing up and bent at the waist as I ate Susan, who was rocking her hips and moaning quite loudly now. He entered me from behind and completely filled me with a very, very large cock. I smiled as I traced the letter O. That was pleasantly unexpected. He started fucking me slowly. I started getting distracted from Susan, so I forced myself to focus. After each letter, I quickly sucked on her clit and then moved on to the next letter. I could tell she was close. Bud started pounding me harder. When I got to the letter X, Susan screamed, came, and pushed my face against her pussy. I had to finish the alphabet, of course, so she writhed as I very slowly tortured her with the last two letters. Then I was still, just keeping pressure on her clit as she finished.
When she had stopped moving, Hubby reached over and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back and up a little so he could lean over and kiss me. My face was covered with Susan's juices. He kissed me and then he whispered, "I love you." I knew he meant it.
Hubby helped Susan shift over on the edge of the hot tub and then step in. They both sat down and watched Bud as he was almost done fucking me. I wasn't ready to come yet, which disappointed me a little. I knew it was because I had been so distracted with Susan. But I knew Hubby wouldn't let me leave that night without making sure I was well satisfied.
Bud groaned as he came and his final thrust pushed me forward. He grabbed my hips and held me back on him, and I could feel his big cock pulsating as he released into me. He finally let me go and pulled out. As he did, he said to Hubby, "Damn, she's tight!" Hubby relied, "I know. Great, isn't it?"
I dunked my head under the water to wash my face off. When I came up, I saw Susan moving to straddle Hubby. He was looking at me. He maintained eye contact with me as I moved across the tub to sit next to him.
To be continued........
This is the end of Part 1. Part 2 is right here.
Unfortunately, I cannot participate this week by writing a couple hundred words of fiction about it.
I have a very good reason, though.
I fully expected to write something until I saw the photo prompt of the naked woman sitting on gravel. I wasn't put off by the flippers, although that is pretty fucking weird, or the binoculars or the vehicle or the county road or how freakishly skinny she is.
It was the gravel. First, sitting on gravel naked hurts. Yes, I have firsthand knowledge of this. For those of you who don't, remember how it feels walking on gravel in bare feet. Now imagine that feeling on your butt, thighs, and maybe even your tender woohoo. Ouch! It's even more painful to be laying naked on your back on a gravel riverbank with your legs wrapped around a guy while he fucks you long and hard. Imagine bits of gravel embedded into your back and ass with a few pieces finding their way further up your ass than anyone intended.
You avoid saying anything during the act because you don't want to ruin his fun, but you lose it when afterwards he asks, "Was that really great for you, too, Baby? It was awesome for me." You want to yell, "Who the fuck are you?!?" but you realize it's a bit late for introductions, so you just start crying and whimper, "Help me." You're trying to sit up by yourself, but lifting up your back presses your hips deeper into the gravel. Rolling onto your side just exposes more tender skin to the gravel.
He finally helps you up and looks at your back. "Holy shit," he yells. "Why didn't you tell me??" You sniffle, wipe your nose with your arm, and say, "You were having such a good time and I didn't want to bother you." The second that comes out of your mouth, you realize what an idiot you are, first for not saying anything at the time and then for saying anything now.
He starts picking the rocks out of your skin, starting with your butt and lower back so you can sit in the car while he does the rest. Some of them can be brushed off easily; some need to be picked out by his fingernails; several are embedded so deep that he pulls out his pocket knife to pry them out.
"We should get you to the clinic," he says, but you object loudly, "No!" because you're 17 and you really need to make sure your mother knows nothing about this. You remind him that he's 22 and it makes sense for both of you to just handle this yourselves. He agrees, and gets back to work.
It takes about 30 minutes to remove all of the rocks, and what you thought was just a little blood at first turns out to be enough blood to soak his t-shirt. You finally agree to go to the clinic.
It all becomes more embarrassing at the clinic when the doctor takes one look at you and says casually, "It looks like you've been down at the river today." You think, oh my god, he knows what we were doing, but it quickly becomes clear that he doesn't really care and you find strange comfort in the fact that other girls have gone through the same thing.
You lay there naked for an hour while the doctor inspects every scratch and hole, pulling out little shards that the guy you're never going to fuck again missed. He cleans all the wounds. He throws 2-3 stitches into five of the holes that are too big to just close on their own. He carefully puts some antibiotic ointment all over your back and decides against bandaging the larger wounds because the tape would keep the surrounding smaller and medium sized ones from healing as fast. He offers some pain medication which you eagerly take because, duh, why not? Then after getting a prescription for more antibiotic cream, you finally get out of there.
Your former fuck buddy offers to give you a ride home, but you politely decline and catch a bus home after picking up your things at his place. Home is 500 miles away and your mother thinks you're spending a week with some friends. His car would have been more comfortable than the bus, but you don't care. On the bus, you lean forward the whole way home because it hurts to lean back.
When you get home, you realize you have to tell somebody because you can't put the antibiotic cream on by yourself, so you ask your brother to help. Horrified as he sees your back for the first time, he asks how it happened. You simply say "gravel." It takes him about 10 seconds, but then he starts laughing and taunting you. "Maybe you should have been on top." "I don't think this what they mean when they say, 'Don't come aknockin' if the trailer's ROCKin'." "Do you really like this guy? Do you think he'll give you a big ROCK or a ring with lots of little ROCKS?"
Mercifully, it doesn't take him long to finish the medicine task. It takes weeks for your back to fully heal and he dutifully helps you every day. Because you can't bear the idea of suffering the humiliation of one more person knowing about it, you refuse to go to a doctor to have the stitches removed and you talk your brother into doing it instead. He agrees, of course, because he thinks pulling out stitches is pretty cool.
Fortunately, your mother never finds out and everything heals well without infection. The long distance guy eventually quits calling when you refuse to talk to him. You think you can finally leave it behind you. Except for one thing.
The gravel. You have a sick pit in your stomach now whenever you see gravel. Any type of gravel, anywhere. This traumatic response still affects you over 30 years later.
That's why I can't write about this week's FFF prompt of the naked woman sitting on gravel.
Visit Advizor54's page to see what other bloggers wrote in response to this prompt.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
WARNING: Slippery when wet (of course!)
WARNING: Hungry pussy
WARNING: Preys on unsuspecting men
WARNING: Smarter than she looks
WARNING: Steals hearts
WARNING: Bores easily
WARNING: Cougar hunting grounds
WARNING: Not suitable for men with heart conditions
WARNING: Prefers sex over sleep
WARNING: Dangerous curves
WARNING: Orally fixated
WARNING: Always wants more
WARNING: Will do anything for love
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
The interesting thing is that we did exactly the same thing we always do (he fingers me until I come, I suck his cock as long as he wants, he fucks me from behind), but because it has been awhile, it wasn't boring at all. It was kind of hot. Hubby? Hot? Yes.
And while I am very fond of my buddy Spartacus, there's nothing like having a real, live cock inside me and getting a nice hard fucking.
Afterwards, I said, "We should do that more often."
"Definitely," he responded.
Maybe I'll get lucky again soon.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
"Hey Bob" is code from C, of Afternoon Fun in a Honda Civic. We agreed long ago that we'd start texts from each other as if we were some guy pals. That way, his wife wouldn't suspect anything if she saw them, and my husband would think it was a wrong number - a text from somebody looking for Bob.
C is very creative Sometimes he says simply, "Hey Bob." Other times, though, he'll add something more. "Hey Bob, how 'bout those Giants?" "Hey Bob, did you see the game?"
But last night, it was just "Hey Bob."
By the time I got out of my meeting, it was an hour later and I suspected it wouldn't be a convenient time, but I texted him back anyway. We had a quick two text exchange and then he disappeared. I was right. It was a bad time.
I met C almost three years ago on AM. I liked him instantly. Great sense of humor, easy to talk to and be around, attractive. The only downside was that his wife had him on a very short leash. A very, very, very short leash. He could never get away for an extended period of time. All he could muster were quick 15-30 minutes meetings while he was on an errand near where I worked. As you can imagine, it's pretty difficult to have an affair that way. But we managed. Sort of.
Here's how it would typically go. I'd get the "Hey Bob" text and he'd let me know he'd be nearby in 20 minutes. Was I free? Was I alone? Usually the answer was no, but sometimes, the answer was yes, and it would feel like we'd won the lottery. He'd walk in the front door, greet me with a sweet kiss that would turn into a very passionate one, and we'd move into the other room. More kissing ensued, clothes came off, he'd finger me and I'd come instantly, I'd give him head and he'd come. Then he'd look at his watch and realize that he really had to go. He'd get dressed quickly, kiss me goodbye, and leave.
That was pretty much the routine except for our Afternoon Fun encounter. Never a hotel room. Never a nice comfortable bed. Never enough time to really relax and explore each other. It's a shame, really, because I know it would be great. If we've got sparks when we meet 15 minutes at a time, I think we'd set our worlds on fire if we ever had 2 hours and a comfortable bed. But the odds of that happening are about the same as for either of us actually winning the lottery.
I accepted early on that C and I would sweep in and out of each other's lives. As strange as it seems, it worked for us.
Here's the question, though. Why do I give him the time of day if he can't make time for me? With anyone else in the same scenario, we would have been done after the first couple of times. Why not C?
Because I genuinely like him. He's fun and I thoroughly enjoy his company, even in rare 15 minute blocks. Every now and then I run into him in "real life" and it makes me smile to see him.
The bottom line is that it's fun. Isn't that what it's supposed to be about? Fun. Enjoying each other.
It's been a long time since C and I shared 15 minutes, but I still love getting a text that says, "Hey Bob."
Monday, November 18, 2013
All that is over now. Now there is a male chastity device that prevents the wearer from touching himself or dipping his stick in another woman. Apparently, it fits over a flaccid penis and locks into place, only to be opened by the Keyholder, presumably the wife or Domme or whoever.
While I think it could be fun for sex play, it will never work as a fidelity protection device because you guys would all just learn to pick the lock......or to pick each other's locks, but that just brings us back to sex play, doesn't it?
I can see it now....a bunch of guys out at a club, all locked up by their wives so their night out with the guys stays that way. They gather in the restroom, pulling down their pants and kneeling in front of each other one at a time, picking locks. Within a few minutes, success! They disburse and separate, each going his own way in the club to pick up women. One who wants to remain faithful to his wife just rushes back into the restroom every now and then to jerk off, which he finds immensely satisfying. The others find some prey and find a place to satisfy their urges - the restroom, the parking lot, the cheap hotel next door. At 2:00 a.m., they gather again (so they all leave at the same time) and reattach the devices before going home.
It works great until one of the wives suspects something. Maybe it was the scent of woman on her hubby's underwear. Maybe it was hubby's moaning "Melissa" in his sleep. Unbeknownst to her spouse, she splurged on one of the expensive, high-tech locks that sends her a text message when anyone tries to open the lock or if the lock is ever more than 1 centimeter away from the device. For $100 more, she can have a GPS chip installed. Why not? Now she really has him by the balls, so to speak.
The next time the guys go out, that wifey shows up and catches her hubby in the car with his dick in Melissa and his chastity device in his pocket. You know how it goes from there. There's lots of begging. There may or may not be lawyers involved, but the word spreads fast to the other wives and their hubbies who swear they didn't know their friend was doing that. Soon, all the wives have the new locks, but it's only a matter of time until one of the nerdy hubbies figures out how to disable the text alarm and the GPS, and instead of just using it himself, he starts selling his fix to men everywhere, making enough money to buy his mistress lavish gifts and take his wife on enough exotic trips that she doesn't even notice or care where the money is coming from or where it's going.
The moral of the story? There is no device known to man that will keep a married man from cheating if he wants to.
I learned about these male chastity devices on the Huff Post. Read more here if you'd like.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
A sexy booklover friend of mine shared this with me and now I'm sharing it with you.
When I was in college, I did go home with a guy once who had no books in his house and I actually did leave because it just felt wrong. Wrong. Very wrong.
Now though, maybe I should ask to see a guy's Kindle before making that decision.
Unless he was a firemen....or an athlete....or an underwear model....or he had a big cock.....or he made me laugh....or he liked dogs....or cats.....or.....or.....or.....
Then I'd fuck him anyway.
When I was younger, I'd wear something sexy at bedtime thinking it would make sex more fun and exotic, but Hubby would just bark, "What are you wearin' that for? Take it off, it'll just get in the way. What did that thing cost, anyway?" So, I quit wearing sexy lingerie for Hubby.
For most of my marriage I slept in the nude, but our youngest son has had the inclination to climb into bed with us in the middle of the night so I was forced to get some plain old cotton nightgowns. They are now about 10 years old, threadbare and frayed, but that's what I wear to bed. Sexy, no? At least they don't have infant and toddler spit up on them anymore.
Every now and then, though, I throw on something sexy and climb into bed. Why? Because Hubby needs to think that I bought it for him. Never wearing lingerie and then having lingerie show up in my drawers and closet would be bad. He doesn't get weird about it anymore, but he does look at me suspiciously and he asks stupid questions, like.....
Hubby: Why are you wearing that?
Me: I thought maybe we could have some playtime tonight.
(Why? Why??? How do you answer that question?")
Me: Because I want to. (It was all I could think of.)
Hubby: Well, you could have given me a signal or something.
Me: The see-though nightie is the signal, Dear.
Hubby: Well how would I know? You're always wearing that fancy underwear.
He has half a point. I am always wearing sexy bras. A quick peek at my FetLife profile and photos here will show you a few. No, I am not a Platex-cross-your-heart-bra kind of woman. I wanna feel sexy under my clothes. It does come in handy for unscheduled liaisons, but it's really just for me. I didn't think Hubby even noticed until a couple of years ago when he asked me one morning while I was getting dressed, "Who are you wearing that for?" I answered, "Me," and that was the truth.
What he doesn't understand is that me feeling sexy is more of an indicator of my propensity to play away from home than what any man thinks of my underwear. It takes much less to get a man in bed than a sexy bra and panty set. I wanted to point out to him that before any other man would see the fancy bra, he would already be in a private place with me and clothes would be coming off. He wouldn't notice or care about the bra. But I held back.
Anyway, that's where Hubby's half-point ends. He never sees me wearing fancy nighties to bed unless there is an expectation for sex. The fact that it still surprises him just blows me away.
Seriously, how many surprises are left after 25+years of marriage? Not many, but for Hubby, apparently lingerie still surprises him. "Kat, why are you wearing that? It's going to be cold tonight."
Well, I think, it looks like it already is.
Today I'm wearing a black bra with green lace trim and green panties with black lace trim.
And it's just for me.
Friday, November 15, 2013
If he were here I am pretty sure I could make him come with substantially fewer than 100 words; however, considering the distance I'm thinking that only a teenage boy could come that quick....and what's the virtue in coming so fast, anyway? I prefer to take my time.
Here it is. I give you The Photograph.
The photo was the only memento she had from their night together. It reminded her of his strength and forcefulness, but it couldn't show the way he had slowly and meticulously prepared her for that moment when the timer snapped the picture.
It was the way he deftly touched and kissed her all over - everywhere - not letting her move or object, that took her breath away. By the time the camera clicked, she was dizzy, nearly blind with passion. Her body had taken over and was responding only to him and the pleasure he was giving her. Time disappeared. When he had exacted every last orgasm her body could produce, he was gone.
It was the best night of her life, and all that remained was a photo.
Don't forget! We're having a Tweet Chat tonight (Fri., 11/15)! Join me on Twitter at 7:00 p.m. (Pacific time) at #pwk. I'm @shackledkat and I'll see you then!
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Tomorrow night (Friday, 11/17) at 7:00 p.m. (Pacific time) join me on Twitter at #pwk. I am @shackledkat, of course, and I'll be there getting my flirty tweet on with y'all for an hour or so.
You can ask questions, try out your best pick up lines, tell me what you'd like to see on the blog, share your favorite sex stories or just hang out. There's only one rule - be nice.
I have no idea how this will go, but let's do it anyway. It will be fun. If we like it, we can make it a regular thing.
And, by the way, you can follow me on Twitter now. No need to wait for our chat.
I was perusing Facebook this morning and I just couldn't pass this one up. After all, PWK is something of a community service. I'd like to think that we play an educational role as well as a sexually stimulating one.
This article includes some very strange information like "vaginal secretions include components found in shark livers," and some important and useful information like "having sex can keep the vagina young and healthy." This supports my "use it or lose it" claim regarding both the libido and the maintenance of "the equipment."
So, here you go. 10 Things You Didn't Know About Vaginas
What are your thoughts?
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
We came home from dinner and I turned on Sons of Anarchy, which always puts me in a naughty mood. I think it's because I can't resist watching the overdose of uncontrolled testosterone. And what woman wouldn't want to fuck Jax Teller (Charlie Hunnam) and Nero (Jimmy Smits)?
Anyway, I put the little guy to bed and decided to jump in the shower. It's never a bad idea to be prepared (clean and shaved) in case the birthday blow job turns into something more, right?
I turned on the hot water so it would warm up while I undressed. Shedding the clothes felt unexpectedly good. Maybe it was the feeling of being unbound, free. Maybe it was my libido expressing itself through the reaction to the cool air on my skin.
I stepped in the shower and under the stream of hot water. I love hot showers. Very hot. Hubby and I quit taking showers together very early in our relationship because he can't stand the heat. What a shame.
As the water flowed over my hair, face, breasts, and back, I exhaled slowly. The stress of the day washed away quickly and I felt relaxed, free, loved - and the image of SNS Guy popped into my head.
I imagined him kissing me deeply as I grabbed the soap, and then I felt his hands on me, washing me, caressing me. I slid a hand between my legs and caught my breath as I touched my clit which was swollen and sensitive. I leaned back against the wall and touched myself with one hand, pinching a nipple with the other hand. I could see him smiling at me as he flicked my clit, making me start to shudder.
I reached up quickly and grabbed my waterproof vibrator from the shelf. I lifted one foot up onto the stool in the shower and slid the vibrator inside me, still rubbing my clit. I moved it slowly in and out of my cunt, rocking against it, wanting more. I could feel him biting my neck as he fucked me. My foot on the stool was really wrapped around him, pulling him to me, trying to press him deeper into me. He responded by fucking me harder.
I came hard. Very hard. He kept working my clit and pressing his cock into me until my orgasm subsided. I kissed him again and tried to keep him with me, knowing that he'd be gone when I opened my eyes which I avoided. I finished my shower with him. He washed my hair very sensually. Then he carefully soaped me all over with his deft hands. As he washed my pussy, he playfully threatened to play with me some more, but he laughed and moved on. When it was time to finish up, I pulled him to me and kissed him passionately.
Finally, I let go and opened my eyes. I was met with a pang of sadness that caused me to burst into tears. God, I missed him. I missed his physical presence. I missed his touch and his kiss.
But there was nothing to be done about that, at least not now. I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, wiping away my tears with the rest of the water and my moment with him.
A few minutes later I made it into the bedroom and Hubby was fast asleep, wearing about five layers of pajamas and other clothing as if we lived in Michigan rather than California. I decided not to wake him for his birthday blow job. That could wait for another day.
I turned off the light and climbed into bed. I closed my eyes and brought SNS Guy back to me. He wrapped his arms around me and and I curled up next to him. I drifted off to sleep with him, feeling safe, happy, and content.
This change of plans worked out just fine.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
After they kidnapped her, they took her to a church, prayed over her and tried to conduct an exorcism. Why? Because the 42 year old husband was sure that she was demon possessed. Why else would she leave him? Hubby and son thought that she would come back home if they exorcised the demons.
Instead, the police showed up, wifey (and, presumably, her demons) were freed, and hubby and son were arrested and taken to jail.
Wow. That's a serious case of arrogance and self-deception, isn't it? I'm sure he honestly believes that there is no other legitimate reason for his wife to leave. I'm no marriage counselor, but I think it's safe to say that there's probably no hope for this marriage. And I'm pretty sure that's why she left.
I've heard of lots of ways that men have tried to get their wives back, but exorcism wasn't on that list.
Monday, November 11, 2013
The only explanation I have is that the blog has not been high on my list of priorities. Family and work come first, and they have been commanding most of my attention over the past few months.
And I also haven't had much to say about prowling. The last extramarital sex I had was in mid-June when I met SNS Guy. Yes, that's five months of fidelity. Five months of nothing but Hubby.
It's not that anything is wrong with Hubby, but I've said it here before - going back to nothing but the same routine sex, same positions, same thing...the same thing we've done for 25 years - is difficult. No, it's more than difficult. It's stifling.
I wonder sometimes if I could be ok with it if I had never known the likes of W, J, JJ, SNS Guy and the others, but I don't think so. I started prowling so I could fill that void in my life. Now, though, I know what I'm missing. So, I put one foot in front of the other and try to just walk through it. Each day and week and month of "just walking through it" kills some of the passion and desire in me.
Have you ever seen the movie Pleasantville? In the film, the black and white world of a small, restrained town slowly turns to color as the residents experience joy and real pleasure of all kinds. We cheer for them as the color bursts forth, freeing them from their old life and way of looking at the world. Prowling was a lot like that for me. Parts of myself that I had never known and other parts of me that I knew about but was too afraid to let loose just burst into color. I felt alive. Fully alive.
The last several months have been the beginning of the reversal of the process. The world is slowly becoming more grey. I'm alive and well and reasonably healthy. All is well with my family. There are challenges to face, but there always are. Hubby is finally happy because I'm compliant with his monitoring requirements and he's confident I'm not prowling. So, he's content and I'm fading a little more each day.
That sounds sad and pathetic, doesn't it?
I'll never understand why people who claim to love us so much feel the need to keep us so tied down. Fear is a powerful motivator, I suppose.
A friend of mine encouraged me to share this with you. I was just going to stay quiet forever, or until my world started turning to color again, but he's right. Keeping it to myself helps no one. And nothing changes if I don't change it.
An image of a tiger in a cage (Kat in a cage?) comes to mind. When the tiger is first captured, he pushes against the bars and roars and paces back and forth waiting for a chance to escape. Eventually, though, he just lays down, not even getting up when the cage door opens. He just gives up.
Time to get up and start pacing again.