Saturday night, we got a hotel room. It was wonderful — it had a hot-tub in the room, and was right on the water, surrounded by yachts and the bay. There was a great restaurant within walking distance — although we drove, because the wind was murderous. Our daughter was at a sleepover with her cousin, and it was just the wife, me, and a bag of toys.
My wife is in charge now when it’s us, alone, and sex is in the air. No more topping from the bottom, no more worries about how much control I wield, or whether or not she’s really into it. She’s begun controlling the BDSM aspect of our relationship clearly and without any real control from me, and after the blood-drinking the night before, I was in her thrall. Yeah, her thrall. I know that one of the things that has always thrown me about BDSM is the flowery language — but once she had my blood in her mouth, once I was dominated so thoroughly that she had me pinned and was drinking my blood — I just felt all the fight leave me. I didn’t become a different person, but there was a new element to the relationship, a new sureness that she was in control. I told her about it, and she felt it too — that she was truly in command, truly powerful, truly dominant.
And Saturday was nice — she kept me off-balance. She likes flying without a script, not knowing what she’ll do next, and Saturday was random — she kept me guessing, bouncing from toy to sex to hot-tub handjob to knifeplay to pegging to whatever. Zip, zip, zip. ADHD for the dominant. It kept me reeling, one minute being held in the hot-tub and given a hand-job, the next having my parenium clamped and my cock and balls tied in leather and then tortured, a moment later being whipped in the balls with a crop and made to lick the precome off of it. She would get bored and peer into our bag, pull some toys out, attach some new thing to my body, hit me someplace else, and then strip it all off and make me do something else. Read the rest of this entry »
