As I hinted about in my post on APL, it doesn’t matter how down and out I am (or carved on and stitched up) I can’t stand to be around W for more than…well, hell, a couple of hours before my brain has turned to mush and all I want is to have kinky sex things done to me.
Hell, he doesn’t even need to be here yet for me to start thinking about sex.
Case in point. Day, oh, two or three in this whole ordeal, and I am seriously laid up, like not able to stand up, hobbling with help to the bathroom, sleeping 90% of the day and in narcotic drug dreams the other 10%. I was semi-lucid, but in pain, late that afternoon when W’s call came that he was on his way over. I debated trying to be partially awake for his arrival, but realized I couldn’t deal with the pain, so took a pill and curled up to sleep some more. But the knowledge that W was on his way infected my brain, because even in my misery, as the warmth of the narcotic flooded my system, the tingling I felt was distinctly sexual in nature. I lay there and instead of falling immediately into sleep I daydreamed about him coming there and finding me drugged; incapacitated. It is one of my most “wrong” fantasies: being drugged, my body used and handled, unable to control my body, but still loosely, fuzzily aware of my surroundings, and what was happening to me, as I was fucked and used by men W had brought just for that purpose. Laying in my sick bed, curled in an almost fetal position, I felt myself get slick and wet between my thighs, heard my own breathing catch as my excitement rose…
…before promptly crashing into a drug-induced sleep.
Other instances of wrongness this past week, when I should have had nothing on my mind except sleep and healing, but instead was whimpering, moaning, panting and practically begging the Guys to do things they shouldn’t even have wanted to do to a sick, wounded woman (but which, apparently, they did. Such is the power of The Jade (spoken in a suitably theatrical tone of voice.) Ha.
Actually they just let me writhe around a bit, and when I offered (or demanded) to use my mouth, since the rest of me was out of commission, well they were just doing the poor sick girl a kindness, right?
Oh, but there was plenty of build-up to that particular instance of debauchery.
- There was the shower, and W kneeling down in the shower to wash me. His hands so wet and slippery, sliding between my legs, slipping between my plastic retainers where my rings are supposed to be and then past. His finger teasing my asshole. His hands on me, making me weak in the knees. And all while I could barely hold myself up, after I had tried to use the restroom on my own and ended up in a heap, crying, because I needed his help in the shower and I was embarrassed for him to see me, to see the tubes coming out of my body and the stitches and the bruising and my helplessness.
- There was Ad grinning at me and telling me he had to get pictures of my bizarre medical condition for W. Because in some weird way they both think there’s something…maybe not “hot” but…I don’t know…something sexual about it? But okay, maybe I did too, since I was the one that brought up alien sex later…
- There was W holding my wrists above my head to keep me from scratching at my wound. And me immediately going all limp and liquid beneath him, unable to think of anything else but being tied, being held, and getting fucked.
- There was me laying next to W, unable to be as close as I wanted, to press my entire body against him, but feeling his hand curled around my wrist, his finger stroking the inside of it, over and over. Such a simple thing should not have been so erotically charged, and yet it was, undeniably. It left me flushed with heat and catching my breath–and glad that the blankets covered my hand where I had just started to stroke his cock before my daughter knocked and opened the door all at once. Thank god for covers!
- Sometime later that same day, laying next to him with my hand on his cock (again!), holding him and feeling him stiffen in my hand as we talked about alien sex. Hey, I’ve got tubes coming out of my body, what can I say? Ad walked in this time (the kids weren’t home!) and W and I both just grinned at him. “You guys,” he said, shaking his head. But he didn’t object when I gestured for him to lay down on the other side of me. Soon, I had W’s cock in one hand and Ad’s in the other and was squirming (as much as I could without actually moving too much) between them. Only moments after that I had wiggled my way facedown so that I lay with my head on W’s belly and my mouth on his cock. Then his hand was in my hair and he was making me fuck him with long slow strokes of my mouth and Ad’s cock was stiffening in my hand, and pretty soon I was squirming even more and whimpering with each upstroke, and W’s cock was swelling harder and harder in my mouth and then Ad’s fingers were stroking my pussy lips, and then parting them, and then, oh sweet Jesus, pushing past them and inside of me. It was only moments before I realized a tragedy was about to occur: I was going to come. And it was going to hurt. I tore my mouth away from W’s cock long enough to beg Ad to please please not make me come…which request, tower of willpower that he is, he obliged. As a testament to how wrong this whole fucked-up scenario was, I felt W’s cock grow even harder in my mouth, his hand pushing inexorably down on my head, his hand a tight fist in my hair, and moments later he was coming in my mouth. But it didn’t stop there…riding the high (and excitement-fueled lack of pain) I rolled over immediately to Ad, took his cock in my mouth, and sucked him off too. And then laid back and breathed off the frustration of, for maybe the first time ever, not coming when I really really wanted to.
- Which all led to yesterday morning, in which W teased me for over an hour, without doing anything except letting me press myself against him while he ran his hand over my throat, into my hair, across my mouth…while I stroked his cock and wriggled and managed to touch myself a few times before he stopped me. “I’ve never been into this denial thing,” he said, “but this is kind of fun.” And then he proceeded to tell me how it might even be fun to order me out on dates and not let me come…make me give men head but allow me no satisfaction all month. He’s dubbed January “Blowjob January.” “We have to keep you in practice,” he said, and made me make a list of all the potentials out there that I could possibly give blowjobs to. Just to keep me “in practice.”
In other news, I will be participating here in the 30 Days of Kink meme that I found via Insatiable Desire starting tomorrow. I had wanted to start it last week, but the surgery sort of derailed that. I think it could be interesting, as, although most of the questions are pretty basic, “BDSM 101” type questions, it may give some of you new to my blog (~waving!~) insight into my personal relationship with BDSM in general.
Or maybe not. I dunno. But I’m willing to give it a shot.