M is for…

…many things. Masturbation. Meanie. Madness. Miffed.

Let’s start with that first word:


It’s kind of the word of the month, isn’t it? Well okay, the word is probably orgasms, but in my world this month, orgasms are all about self-pleasure.

Or (sigh) not pleasuring.

That’s right, I missed another orgasm in my #30dayorgasmfun quest. And this time Viper didn’t let me off with a slap on the wrist (or four orgasms in one day.) I’m officially on a week-long enforced orgasm dry spell. If you can call it “dry.”

I completely deserved it. I got home after a long walk on my only free night this week and instead of doing anything I was supposed to (homework, write a blog post, do laundry, write an orgasm report, paint my bathroom, repot my violets, masturbate…hell, I didn’t even take off my clothes…before I fell into bed and into a deep sleep. And slept right up until the roommate woke me up the next morning because V had realized my phone was off and texted her to see if I was home with a dead phone. Which I was.

As I mentioned in my initial post about #30dayorgasmfun, V had said if I missed a day I would go a week without orgasms. What he didn’t tell me was that playing with myself each night – teasing myself, edging each night – was also going to happen, instead of the orgasms. What he also didn’t mention was that “no orgasms” would be applied to when I was with him as well. That’s not usually how it works. Unless, of course, he got his Meanie pants on. Which brings us to the second M word.


Also known as Viper. He qualifies for the term in so many many ways…but in particular, last night, because he messed with me unmercifully. Like I said, I was not apprised of the fact that “no orgasms” meant NO orgasms. So, after we had gotten done doing house stuff, he and I headed downstairs for a shower.

I’ve mentioned my love of showering with him, haven’t I? I’m not much of a service submissive, but it really makes all my subbie senses light up to bathe him. To soap him and scrub him, to wash his hair. Alternatively, he also loves washing me, not as service but as…as his property, I guess. I don’t know if I’ve written of the super hot bath and shower scenes we’ve had, where it is him washing me. Yeah, he makes scenes out of taking a bath.

Anyway, I digress. (And now I’m squishy.)

Anyway, now that I have discovered the joy of the shower in his bathroom, I am going to insist (ok, beg very sweetly) that we shower together MUCH for often. Like every time we play. ;-) In this instance, we showered pre-play, because we’d both been working hard on the house. Once in the shower, soapy scrubby in hand, I went to work on him. Soon, I was doing a lot of very concentrated soaping of his penis, which quickly stood up and asked for more (it was a very dirty penis.) In no time at all, I had captured him between my legs and was using his slippery cock as a sex toy, using it to slide against my labia and clit while he was captured between my sudsy, slickery thighs. Things rapidly heated up, and I’m not talking about the water temperature (ha ha.) As I also mentioned before, I enjoy teasing him a bit, and, sure of the eventual outcome, I did just that. With my hands, with the tip of my tongue, between my legs, watching the blissful expressions on his face all the while. Once, long ago, with my ex-husband, I discovered that under certain circumstances, I can use a cock to stroke myself to orgasm. There is something about the velvety head with its two distinctive sides, like folds of labia, that gets me right in the…well, right in the clit. And this was the right circumstance. In so many ways.

His breathing quickened, as did mine. I was stroking him with one hand while I slid him in and out of the soft pillow of my inner thighs, stroking him over and over my clit. My body trembled, an orgasm was imminent.

He jerked himself away from me, his cock sliding free of my hand.

“Nope,” he said. “Get rinsed off.”

I pouted. He did not relent.

Later that night, after I had gotten some writing done, we ventured downstairs again. (Gotten some writing done with my tablet in my lap and my feet rubbing his cock through his pants, while he zinged me (smacked just isn’t the right word for it) with an evil stick. He lay back on the spanking bench and presented his cock to me. “You like to tease me,” he said. “Go ahead.”

I did, until he was gasping and his cock dripped. And then, at some point, he turned the tables on me and was fucking me. I think I assumed, erroneously and with absolutely no corroborating evidence, that, having done a really good job, he’d let me come this time. He hadn’t actually said I couldn’t, or that that was his goal. So, you know. I was hopeful.

But no. That MEANIE fucked me hard, he fucked me slow, he fucked me until I whimpered and almost came…he fucked me at the exact right tempo…and then stopped. Or he fucked me all wrong so I couldn’t find a rhythm. Have you ever fucked someone who just couldn’t get the right rhythm?? Yeah, that. Deliberately.  Which leads us to the next word.


I swear to god, it was like a frenzy took over me. Yeah, yeah, so I’d had four or five (or six) orgasms that one day, but FUCK! I was deprived, my life had been a long, dry desolate world of NO ORGASMS for days and days!!

Okay, maybe that is a slight bit of exaggeration. But see? MADNESS had taken over me. Mad. Ness.

I don’t beg. I don’t plead. I begged that night. I pleaded. “Just fuck me right!!! Um. Please?” (I’m not a very good beggar.) I bit him (lightly, because I’m the one that likes pain, not him, and I didn’t want him to stop.) I scratched him. I humped at him, I tried to hold him still so I could rub against him…

Oh! That fucker! That bastard! (In my head, along with “please please just do it the way I want you to…”) And then, with a shuddering sigh, he came. I felt his cock jerk inside of me, I felt the orgasm pulsing through him. I was…


And that, dear reader, is the end of the letter “M”.


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