I know that I haven’t been terribly active on my blog this past week, but please know that I am generally okay. The long and short of it is I was targeted with verbal abuse on Tuesday 9th May by another neighbour, and I have been in discussions with my landlord and the police about that, especially as it’s not the first time with this family. On the same day I had 1.5 tonnes of gravel delivered for the back garden, so I have been gradually relocating that, given it’s not currently where it’s supposed to go.
After laying some gravel grids and filling them with gravel, I ached. It hurts, but I enjoy that hurt sometimes and it makes me groan a little which amuses me when I think how my groans don’t really sound like discomfort at all. It makes me smile even more knowing that this pain is called DOMS, or Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness, and then I have the most deillish little grin of all when I think to myself that neither of my sadists have ever made me ache in the same way.
Alas, things you don’t say.
For charification here, I much prefer deep aches to surface pain. Surface pain makes me nauseous even, but deep pain is somehow satisfying for me. I recalled a few days ago how, when I was younger, I had a bizarre fascination with medieval torture racks – I really, really wanted to be stretched on a medieval torture rack. I know why now, of course, and I roll my eyes at it.
There’s a reason I like the song from Suicide Squad, “Sucker For Pain”. I am a sucker for pain for sure, it’s why I like sadists so much.
Alas, I digress.
On Sunday Sir Bill points out to me that if his partner, my metamour, Red, was more agreeable, I would have two Doms and a Mistress. It’s a sweet thought, though it’s mistaken.
Ah, ah. With women I’m Domme, sweetheart. Ain’t no bird ruling me 😉
For me, and for whatever reason, then with women I have always been Dominant. I have a protector instinct for women, I cannot be protected by a woman. I have to lead, I cannot be led. It’s just the way I am.
That has, tragically, been taken advantage of before.
I do get along with Red, so it’s not that, but we are perhaps more alike than we are different. Red is/would be more like a sister to me than she is a Dominant. She might be older than me, but I’ve never let that be a reason for her to be above me. Not in D/s, anyway.
When it comes to other women, then I have long had a crush on some of my closest female friends. I think that has always been how it is for me in relationships; we are friends between whom things may escalate. I had a crush on my school friend Kerry (who later, annoyingly, became a lesbian anyway, despite hating the idea in our formative years) and a little later, my friend-turned-bridesmaid, Cat. I like warm girls, kind girls, funny girls, smart girls. I like feminine-looking girls who are slightly tomboyish sometimes. I like modest girls with a devillish streak, shy girls who are loud only in bed. Essentially, I guess, I would want to date me.
But I also want a woman who wants to be cared for, who appreciates – rather than expects – being spoilt. I want a woman who is proud to be with me, who isn’t ashamed of her sexuality, who – just like me – wants to be respected, loved and valued as her own person, in her own relationship, not just something to fulfil a male fantasy. I’d want a whole relationship with another woman, not just a night.
Our tenth wedding anniversary didn’t go entirely to plan, in part because of me being rudely awoken at 6:30AM by an acid reflux attack. I’m not sure what happened exactly but I jumped awake gasping for breath, my throat was tight and inhaling was a noisy, traumatic struggle. Somehow I vaguely remember Matt telling me to “just breathe”, which was kind of what I was trying to do anyway.
Somehow I managed to wake myself up enough to calm down. Once I’d come to my senses then I was vaguely aware of my sore throat and the sour taste in my mouth, two classic signs of excess acid. I took some Gaviscon tablets and went back to bed, being sure to lie on my left side this time.
I slept soundly for another three hours.
When I woke at 9:30AM, I decided to wake Matt too. I know he wanted to do somethng with the day so I didn’t want him to miss it. I wrapped my arm over him and kissed his shoulder softly.
“Mr Wolf, are we gonna greet the world?” I ask, “it’s half nine”.
Perhaps it was the kisses on the shoulder, but we didn’t actually greet the world until closer to half ten. There was nothing remotely romantic about it – I accidentally dropped the B-bomb (“breed”) and that was the way it went.
But before that, the Wolf settled himself down to feast.
Mine was a breathy crescendo of which, and once again, the neighbours shall be more than aware. I try to control these things and I think it’s a game for Matt not to let me.
“Well, you couldn’t stick a bow on that” I say as my senses come back down to earth. He laughs heartily.
I’m not allowed to do any blog work yesterday, or any housework for that either. I did get permission to write a post to celebrate yesterday though, on the argument that it was sort of time-specific. He’s reluctant, sure, but he agrees.
As I work, I squint at my laptop screen on the coffee table. It’s not my usual working space, but I’m not strictly working anyway so it doesn’t really apply.
“You need your eyes tested, Mrs S” Matt says. I grumble in protest.
“I can’t, I don’t want to tingle in the wrong places” I eventually admit.
“Oh? Your ASMR?” he asks. I nod. It would be embarrassing for me.
“What is it that sets it off?” he probes. I shake my head.
“A girl needs some secrets!” I say. “You know that thing, anything you say can be used against you? I know two people at least who will gladly use these things against me. So, sorry, bro, but not today”. Matt pouts at me and shakes his head. My two delightful sadists know that they’ve started a game, a game which they won’t win that easily.
I try not to think of the application of ASMR in a BDSM scene, and some of the videos that I have seen that I have, naysay, favourited for a reason. As I do, I become acutely aware of the goosebumps on my arms and my hardened nipples, and I fold my arms closer to my chest to hide them.
Damn it!
By nightfall we settle outselves down to watch Friends With Benefits. My choice.
“Well, after fifteen years together and ten years married” I murmur as I kiss Matt softly, “I can safely say that I thoroughly enjoy being friends with you-” I say, my hand slowly roaming down his front to his flies.
“And I can also say that I am definitely, definitely enjoying the benefits” I wink. Matt catches my hand, laughs and shakes his head.
“As ever you, Mrs S, are incorrigble. But happy ten years, sweetheart” he says. He kisses me back.
I wish that I could say we were better behaved this morning, but we weren’t. I wish that I could say that I wasn’t responsible for what happened, but I was. I was used, debased, degraded, taken for his satisfaction moreso than my own. The romance has gone away now, I have been assured. There is no ‘honeyversary’ for this girl.
It’s the way he hauls my trousers up after and slaps my ass for good measure – an exclamation to his disregard.
He leaves me like it for a while to absorb what just happened and I hang my head in shame. He knows this gets to me.
I, a woman wth high self-worth, just let myself get used.
I was mounted.
Mated with.
Bred.
I didn’t come, but I know he did and I didn’t stop him either, in fact amd deep down inside, I know I even begged him to. What does that say about me?
Bill and I have had our own silliness too, with competitions over gardens. Bill has plants in his, I have lights in mine and typically, we both want what the other one has got. Such is our relationship – playful, competitive, delightful.
One last lot of cutting to do, he tells me.
Yeah yeah, bulb check later 😛 , I reply.
Bill also tells me of his annual garden records.
I shall take heed of your tendendy to keep records in things 😛 , I say.
On. I meant on.
Instantly my mind conjures up all kinds of scenarios. Things I’d rather not think about, of geocaching gone horribly wrong.
I admit to Matt my typing error. If ever there was a time to make one, that was possibly it. It changes the context.of everything.
“Perhaps I should keep a record of the times I’ve been in you” Matt grins.
Oh dear God…
