Yesterday was a big day – my last day at my old job, a job I had held for seven years, and loved.
The reality is that the job I left wasn’t actually my old job, or at least not precisely. It was the “new old job” I had accepted and then resigned. It wasn’t all about the money – although the increase will be greatly appreciated. It just wasn’t the same place it had been, before they “disbanded” my old organization. So, while it was sad to be leaving the national organization that I had worked for for seven years, I wasn’t all that melancholy to be leaving this job in particular. In fact, I was more than ready. I’d done everything I had set out to do, everything I’d said I would do, completing the last project I’d wanted to get done before I left, I was leaving on good terms with my organization and the powers that had taken over, and I was leaving on my terms.
I felt good. Damn good, in fact.
I texted W. “Let’s celebrate!”
We already had a play date scheduled. A while ago, when Ad was working late on Fridays, and I didn’t want to be stuck at home all night, but did want to be home when he got off work, I’d suggested the idea of having play dates with W on Fridays. It would be just like if we were dating again: I’d come over, we’d do kinky stuff, I’d go home. I know that W likes having “more than” just a play partner, and enjoys our part-time, almost-sort-of living together arrangement, but I also know that this scenario appeals to him as well. As an added bonus, he has told me a couple of times now that one thing he especially enjoys is that he thinks about it all day, and makes plans. And indeed, the couple of times we have managed to pull it off, he actually had things set up and ready, and a plan in mind. I don’t know if he realizes how flattering it is (and exciting) to know he’s been thinking about our date, too, planning it, anticipating it, just as I have been. Not to mention that there’s no question that I’m not in charge, not directing things. It’s a win-win!
Unfortunately, Ad’s schedule changed, and we only got to have a couple of those date nights. But when I got called to dog sit this weekend, I saw another opportunity for one, since I don’t like to be out too late when I’m dog sitting.
When I said we should celebrate, W agreed and made a couple suggestions. Dinner, drinks, cupcakes, ice cream? And then, “Don’t forget, we have a play date tonight too.”
He remembered! We’ve had several vanilla dates lately – lovely, romantic nights going to an outdoor concert, going out to dinner, (trying) to see the full moon from atop Compton Water Tower – but I was thrilled and (again) flattered that he remembered that tonight was a “date” night. That kind of date.
“Play, then ice cream?” I suggested. Now that’s my kind of celebration.
Little did I know how much it was going to be “my” kind of celebration.
It started out with a congratulatory hug and a kiss, a glass of wine and chit-chat. Then he took my hand and said, “It’s time,” and led me down to the basement.
At least it was in the “front hole,” as he likes to call it. But there was more to come (cum?) (Heh, I just made a pun.)
I may have mentioned that I have always fantasized about large insertables.
Or maybe I haven’t.
No, wait wait…I did mention it, way back in 2009! From A Stretch – Do I Have to Choose Just ONE?:
I started fantasizing. Fantasizing about being stretched wide, filled up, pulled open, stuffed by a huge cock-shaped dildo. Ass and cunt.
This isn’t a new thought for me. A long, long time ago, when I first started exploring kink online, I started emailing this chick and her Dom. On her AFF profile she stated that he liked to insert large objects inside her, stretch her out, fill her as full as possible. At the time I pretended (to myself, because I wasn’t yet ready to face my own desires) that that wasn’t why I was attracted to her profile, or why I had messaged her. I never did meet with her, but from time to time (okay, more often than that) my mind has drifted (oftentimes while my hand is drifting downwards) to images of women with their legs spread open, often forcibly, as huge things are shoved into their cunts.
So yeah, that’s been part of my masturbation lexicon for a while. (More recently it’s been tentacles. Tentacles. Really?!? Would someone smarter than me please explain that little fetish to me?) But I digress…
So there I was, tied up, ankles and wrists in stocks, legs spread, in the basement. With an ass hook in my cunt. Which didn’t, by the way, feel too awful.
Not too awful at all.
It felt even better when he started sliding his fingers over my pussy lips. He’d used lube, for which I was glad. Sometimes I get very wet when I’m excited, but sometimes I don’t. I realize it’s probably an age thing – I’m getting to that age where that happens more frequently – but I still find it embarrassing. Maybe like some men feel when they can’t get an erection? “I’m excited! Why can’t I get it up/get wet??” With men I know it’s not a reflection on me, (most likely), and means nothing about what we are doing. It just happens. I have never been snarky or unkind about it. But with myself…I’m a bit critical. Harsh even. I feel bad. I feel guilty, like I am somehow at fault. I worry that my men (or whomever I am with) will take it that I’m not excited by them or what they are doing. So not true! But there it is. Too: I love to be wet. I love the feel of fingers or a cock or a toy or even a mouth sliding over my rings. They are already sensitive and when they are slippery it’s an almost unbearably delicious sensation.
W was giving me plenty of that. And then more, as he slid a finger (or two?) inside me, and began gently rocking the ball of the asshook inside of me, while grinding the heel of his palm against my clit. The mild discomfort of my wrists in the stocks melted away, and soon I was rocking back and forth against his hand, pushing the ball against the insides of my vagina, feeling the pressure hitting just the right spots as his hand kept up the rhythm against my clit.
It took a little bit of wriggling the right rhythm, but finally it all came together. (See how I did that? Another pun!) :-) Then I came again, the first orgasm rolling into the next as he pushed his fingers into me, filling me up and stretching me just a bit, before he pulled away. I leaned into the rope and recuperated as he went back to his bag of tricks. My eyes widened when I saw what he brought out. Coincidentally enough, it was the toy that I ended up buying in the post above:
To say that my pussy throbbed would be an understatement. Finally! I’d been fantasizing about W using Bam on me ever since I bought it – yes, for five years. In all that time I’d only played with it three times. Once, alone, but telling W about it, hoping it would make him hot enough to want to fuck me with it, and twice with Ad, at my request. All three times had been…satisfactory, but less than amazing. Because my brain is wired the way it is, while I will get off using dildos, in order to really get off – mentally and physically – I need them to be used on me, rather than by me. So yes, while I will come if I ask someone to use a toy on me (and I have gotten much better at doing so, especially with Eleven) it’s sooo much more satisfying to have someone do the instigating, taking control and even – as in the case of Bam on this evening – making me take it.
I’m getting squishy all over just thinking about it.
Oh the exquisite aching pleasure/pain of W pushing that huge cock inside of me. The feeling of stretching, opening…resisting and then giving in, of feeling it fill me.
I didn’t think I could come at first. That has happened when W has fisted me. The sensations are just too much, to intense, too overwhelming, for an orgasm to even seem possible. But then, somehow, it started to feel good.
No wait…that isn’t quite correct. It wasn’t “somehow.” I know exactly what did it. W started thrusting it inside me. Small, gentle movements at first, and at first I whimpered and resisted, whined and panted, “No no no…too much…” But he kept at it. Not viciously, not even forcefully, just…insistently. Making me open up for him, making me take it, more and more of Bam, longer and deeper thrusts into me and pulling it almost all the way out. Short, slow thrusts at first, but as I started to get excited, longer ones, until when he pulled Bam almost all the way out I was suddenly pushing down, trying to swallow that giant cock with my cunt. And then I looked down to see him thrusting it into me, his arm and shoulder muscles bunching, and it was exactly as I always imagined in my fantasies. Being forced to fuck it, to take it…
The orgasm, when it came, was explosive. And painful, as all my muscles contracted down on that giant thing inside me. I gasped, panted, begged him to take it out. After a few more thrusts, he did, slowly. I was at once keenly disappointed. I laughed at myself and grinned at him.
But he still wasn’t done with me. He went back yet again to his bag of tricks – and returned with Eleven in his grasp. “No…” I panted. I really was exhausted. But as soon as he slipped Eleven inside of me, the cold steel hardness of it, slippery with lube and my own juices, when I was so tight after my orgasm, sent me over the edge again.
Oh, and the ice cream? That happened later, when he took me out to my favorite ice cream shop. But it was just icing on the cake. ;-)