i’ve been thinking about a lecture given during our residency, where we were exhorted to ask questions often about the sex lives of our clients. She told us a story about a couple whose “only intimacy” was confined to the wife giving a blow job, which resulted in him cumming into a fancy cup.
i was quietly thinking that she had no way of knowing what that act meant to those two people. It sounded ritualistic to me. For all the therapist knew, the wife might absolutely enjoy her mouth around her husbands dick, consumed with giving him pleasure. i know i do.
The Psychologist went on to illustrating her ideas, and she was comparing the cum-in-the-cup-couple to her ideas of what sex should be, and using sex as a marker for intimacy. By the time, she directly stated that a marriage without intercourse by definition was a marriage without intimacy, i was so enraged i wanted to walk out.
Frankly, had i not been in a packed ballroom and would have gotten my ass beat for walking out, i would have.
My marriage contains a ton of intimacy, thankyouverymuch. i am the only person who touches my Master, the only person who knows our inside jokes, knows how to please her, shows off my body for her pleasure, and is her bonafide “happy place.” She is the only person whose touch fills me with intense emotion, whose presence conveys safety, whose emotions i cater to, whose tenderness is hard won.
We are each others playmates, our inner children play together every day. i am the only person who knows her innermost demons, have become so trusted through our trials that her little boy inside knows a mothers love through me.
We are dependent on each other to release our carnal urges. It is intimacy when she spits on me, or puts her dirty boot on my chest while i clean them. It is intimacy when she beats me.
And, yes, it is intimacy when i curl up in our big bed in frustration and beg for her. Yesterday, i got a notification from both professors that even though they acknowledge that i redid my papers, the turnitin program flagged me. So i have to redo my work a third damn time, even though they take no responsibility for giving out the same freaking assignment term after term. Some of the work rests on quoting APA guidelines, so-yes-it will be the same, no matter what i do. Sigh. i was working on it all, including trying to figure out if i should just change my research topic in the research class, when Sir Raven came home from work. i poured her wine and asked special permission to order pizza. After i made sure her favorite pizza was on its way, i asked if i could open the box that had been delivered earlier in the day.
It was a new nap blanket for me! Fleece lined and suede. So soft and yummy.
i had returned to working on one of the rewrites, was about to sum up the conclusion, when i realized i just needed to rest for a bit. i took my nap blanket into the big bed, turned on the soft lamp, and just laid down in the silence. Then, almost as an afterthought, i grabbed my pink vibrator for some release.
“Daddy, will you help me?” i called out, from bed. She came in the room, pointing out i had a vibrator to help me, jerking the blanket aside. “Please?” i always remember the pain of her dick, the intensity makes me feel like i’ve suddenly been taken by a rip tide, jerked off my feet and warm sea water invading my senses. Yet, i’m always surprised. Like the strap, it is somehow always worse than my senses can accurately measure.
In between the orgasms, her dick slammed securely inside, she stood by trying out the new strap and the old. The thinner, lighter strap stings like a son of a bitch. The heavier strap helps to slam her dick back into me, every time my body naturally wants to push against it. The pain and pleasure merge. Where i am careful to be quiet when she is fucking me, this is different somehow. It is not attached to her, she is just standing by, witness to my overloaded senses and cruelly using what i hate the most. She is expertly forcing the pain to overwhelm, her Sadism combined with my own precious need to be forced to take it all.
i have no sense of shame, begging, pleading, Daddy make me take it.
She waits until i cum harder, and leaves me alone in the dark room, with my nap blanket.
While my professors may be right about sexual attraction having not much to do with having great sex, they are wrong to think that only one type of sex is satisfying. Or that intimacy doesn’t happen if that one kind of sex isn’t happening.
Last night was just what i needed, the intimacy that comes from both of us knowing that my body needs the very things i hate the most. i need the force. i need the pain. My body and soul needs the reminders.
Maybe she likes it to start with-Daddy please??
i’d ask, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. And-frankly-i got off and she got to try out her new toy-so who cares? It works. It works for us.
Today, i feel calmer inside, ready to work my ass off to get these two papers redone and then get back to the rest of the work for this week. But before i do that, i’m gonna head down to the farmers market and get my Beloved her delicious pie, drop off her dry cleaning, and meditate so i can be fully present to enjoy every step.