Things have been quiet of late. Mr. Tungsten has taken on twice as much work as normal, both to keep his clients happy and to make extra money for December. This means bedroom activities have been farther between than either of us really like.
Last night he made sure both our schedules were clear for a date. Nowadays that means something different than it used to. Allow me to explain.
It started off ordinarily enough. We had drinks at our local pub; just regular chatting and walking back home arm in arm. Little did our sleepy little community know that once we got back, Mr. Tungsten turned into Super Dom. When he strode into the bedroom drawing leather gauntlets on over his entirely black ensemble, I felt a thrill. He doesn’t change for a scene unless we are role playing or unless I ask. And in another rare move, he chose what I would wear – black underwear and my velvet corset. He’d been thinking, he revealed, about me in that outfit for weeks.
Last night’s spanking, was the most severe Mr. Tungsten has ever given me. I used to get beaten and bruised at clubs and parties, but that was before we met. Plus our relationship started with me being much more dominant. Who knew that after twelve years together my husband would get over his fear of being too rough with me and turn out to be something of an actual sadist? Not me, I’ll tell you that.
The session didn’t start out especially rough. The rejuvenator was clamped between my legs in a pleasantly distracting way. But invariably I squirmed too much and I lost it. Then everything became much harder to take, particularly once the gloves literally came off.
Mr. Tungsten pushed me so hard last night, it was as if he was trying to get me to safeword. I yelled and squirmed and even tried to get away from the hand fisted in my hair and the other one dealing out the blows. But I didn’t want out. I miserably explained, when he asked, that since he wanted to spank me, it was my job to take it until he showed some kind of mercy. This must have pleased him because he had me straddle his lap so that I could feel the erection that had been camouflaged by my steel-boned corset as I lay across his lap.
He had marked me beforehand. Inked characters ran down my back like calligraphy from The Pillow Book. The words “owned”,”bad girl”, “slut”, “whore”, “slave”, and “property”. All of these, he said, low and in my ear, applied.
Then he turned me over. My hot and swollen skin made it tough to lie still, no less so by the fact that he then went down on me in the most teasing way he ever has.
(n.b. It is no accident that there are so many superlatives in this post.)
My climax was a long time coming. A long time. He kept switching things up and I lay there, agonizingly suspended in time. It was as if he decided when it was time to let go. Then I cried out for what seemed like minutes. I throbbed. I clamped my legs around him so hard that it might have been annoying to a man who didn’t love that.
There were a few things I didn’t see coming. There was a slap to the jaw that made me ache, and the way he held me down as he was fucking me. It blurred into such a warm haze that I lay there afterwards, pillowed on his chest, not bothered by the collar coming off, because I knew it would be back on before I expected that too. The aftermath was a surprise as well. It was more peaceful than at any time in recent memory, and happier as well. This was what we wanted. This was home.
Luxe Rejuvenator image via The Pleasure Chest
Featured image via Seed magazine.