Verbal touch… and then

Physical touch is so powerful and so pleasant, it surprises me that verbal touch is my favorite language of love.  Maybe that’s because it’s more universal.  There are lots of people we’re not supposed to touch physically.   Or can’t touch.  Verbal touch is always an option.

And i thought it would be easy to write this piece.  Instead, i’m struggling. Looking for words to describe the power of words. 

It’s not about affirmations – you know, the “i’m good enough, smart enough, loveable enough” thing.  It’s not even about validation – recognizing and acknowledging what people are thinking and feeling.  Or – it is both of those things, but not at the heart. 

Maybe after all this, i don’t have words for the words i love…

Back many years ago, when i was doing some therapeutic work of my own, i had a therapist named Dave.  Sometimes i’d be up at 4 o’clock in the morning, writing and thinking, and i’d get overwhelmed with – feelings.  Sadness, pain, grief, despair – you know – that stuff we work on in therapy. 

And i’d call Dave’s office – back in the day, he wouldn’t even know he’d missed a call.  i’d listen to his message, “Hello, you’ve reached the office of…” in his voice.  And i’d feel better.  i wouldn’t leave a message, i’d just listen and feel better. 

Sometimes, i’d call more than once. 

Once, when i 19 or 20, i was talking to my psychology professor, explaining why i hadn’t finished something i’d promised to do.  He looked at me with his kind eyes and said, “You’re really having a hard semester, aren’t you?” – and i burst into tears.  Ten minutes, and a bunch of kleenex, later, i felt so much better.

It was his words that touched me in the right spot – that opened the door for my tears and the healing.

My mother’s voice, saying my name.  My daughter, who still calls me “Mama.”   My friend Ruth, who just has to say “hello” to make me smile.    JM, the amazing analyst, whose voice can also soothe and heal and open the floodgates.  

The power isn’t just the words, is it?  Or – is it that words they’ve already said have built a link, and now just the voice is enough?  i don’t know.

His voice.  Sir’s voice.

i type those words, and get shivers through my body.  He is back from His vacation – well, back in where-He-lives, which is not so far from where-i-live.  We talked yesterday, twice.

{Smiling}

Seeing His name pop up on my phone is nice.  Hearing His voice is even better.   And then the words…  sometimes, i can’t think of what i want to say because i’m just wrapped up in listening to Him.  His voice – the verbal touch – carries so much with it.  It carries –

– the feelings i have where i left myself yesterday, on my knees on a blanket beside the fireplace, ass raised, head down, my hands behind me, opening my self for Him.  My Sir is behind me, His legs touching mine, His body pressed against mine, His cock poised

         – at the entrance to  – o, yes, i’ll say it easily – poised at my asshole – and then…

 i’m holding my breath cause i feel Him push – pushing His cock, which is wet and slippery from my pussy.  Pushing it into, opening me more, more than He already had.  And then –

“Breathe,” He says, and His voice is so normal and gentle that i relax and start breathing again.  And that opens me – and He slides deeper – He is starting to fill me – and for just a second i get a wave of panic again, almost that “sick at my stomach, i can’t do this” feeling and then…

He pulls back a little, it feels like He’s leaving, and i don’t want Him to – i want Him inside me – want Him to take me.  “O – Sir – please…”

“Please?” He says.  “Please what?”  He is poised, inside me but barely.

i know the words, i know the words i want to say, they’re right there – “Please, Sir, please fuck me in the ass.”  i sigh, a sigh of relief, of contentment.  “Please, Sir”

And He pushes forward again, burying Himself deeper inside me.  It stretches me, but i am relaxed and i welcome it, pushing myself back against Him.   i am totally open to Him, as if i have no bones, no muscle.  i belong to Him.

And He fucks me, pushes all the way into me.  i am pinned down, caught, taken, possessed.    Making noises – a gasp, a moan,  a whimper – omigod.   Loving the feeling of being His.

And then – “Touch yourself,” He says.  “Touch your pussy.”  Surprised, i obey, my hand goes to my pussy, my swollen lips, wet and slippery.  i caress myself, rubbing the button of pleasure – rubbing my clit.  And quickly, the feeling begins to build.

The fullness, the sensation of being taken, His cock fucking me, and the tingling, vibrating, rising pleasure and then i am going up – up – all my sensations focused there – between my legs, between my ass cheeks, in those few inches of space – omigod – going up higher – and then –

i am tumbling over the top, crying out, shaking, trembling, tumbling over the top and back down….  crying His name.  

Collapsing, spent, finished, feeling Him thrusting  deep into me, welcoming it, pressing back into Him, wanting Him deeper, wanting Him all – until He is there too – over the top –

                                              and i hear Him cry out, and His cock throbs, and i feel the heat as He explodes inside me.

And then, lying there, finished, drained, complete, His body relaxed as well, weighing on my back, i feel His hand touch my hair, His breath on my neck. 

“Good girl,” He says. 

*****************************************************

Friday i will see Him, just today left in my countdown – and then tomorrow He will be here.  {Smiling…}

 

 

Physical Touch….and then

My next favorite of  the five “languages of love” is physical touch.  Virginia Satir, a family therapist, says that people need four hugs a day to survive, eight to maintain, and twelve for growth.  i don’t know if that’s true, but we know that babies die if they aren’t touched and held.

After i got divorced the first time, i didn’t date for a couple of years.  i needed that time alone, and i was lonesome.  i started going to church then, the same church i go to now.  It’s a small, liberal, Catholic church.  My family had gone there for several years when i was in high school, and i had loved it.  So going back was like going home.     

We do “the sign of peace.”  In most Catholic churches, you hug your spouse and kids, shake hands with the person next to you and behind you, and the mass goes on.  At my church, it’s a ten minute break.  We leave our seats and walk around, greeting each other, shaking hands and hugging.  

In those two years that i was alone, you can imagine how much i treasured those hugs.  i’d try to stock up for the whole week.   

Physical touch is an act of love.  It may not mean you’re “in love,” and it doesn’t have to be sexual, but it is an act of love. 

If you read my blog, you already know i love physical touch.   i love receiving it.  Soft and silky, warm and fuzzy, smooth and hard, i like it. 

 i like silk, velvet, and feather boas – and i like the vampire glove, rough and wicked.  Lotions and oils, pedicures and massages…   i love to be touched.  Stroked, caressed.  Pinched and spanked.

Rope, the feel of rope in my hands, and then as He wraps it around me, ties me up like a package.  It holds me.  Caresses as he unwraps me, sliding over me, round and round.  Leaving rope marks as testimony.

i love to be touched. 

i love to touch. 

With my hands, holding, rubbing, stroking.  The sensation of His skin under my hands makes me purr.

With my mouth.  A kiss.  The touch of  lips, mouths opening, the moment when tongues meet… 

With my mouth on His cock.  i could write  – o, i have written – pages on the joys of taking His cock in my mouth.   The taste of it, the feel of it – sensual delights.  

i love being overwhelmed with sensation.  Like – o, yes, like i left myself yesterday –

– on my knees with my back to Him, ass raised, head down – His fingers in my pussy still, and also-

  – i will say it, He made me say it yesterday, today i will just say it – His fingers in my asshole. 

He has been teasing me, tormenting me really.  Sliding them in and pulling them back, back far enough that i begin to feel empty…

…to feel bereft, to want them back.

                  He is making me beg.  Making me beg for something i didn’t even want.

Whimpering, “O, please, Sir, please,” and pushing my self back, pushing my ass back, trying not to lose the sensation of being filled.  Being taken.

Shameless.

And then i feel Him shift His weight, He rises from His chair and kneels behind me.  O.  His fingers are still inside me, and He’s kneeling behind me.

His body touches mine.  i feel His thighs against my ass, and i whimper.  It feels so good.

I feel His cock, it brushes against me, hard, and for a moment, i’m afraid.  For a moment. 

i want Him, i want this.  And – it doesn’t matter anymore if i do or not.  This is my Sir behind me, and if He wants to, He’ll take me now.  i am too deeply His to protest, even if i wanted to.

As i think that, i feel myself open further, not just my body.  My mind, my heart opens.  i want Him to take more.

And then – He takes His hands away.  Removes them, and i could cry, i feel so empty, i want them back, but He’s talking –

“Aisha,” He says, and his voice is casual, “I’m going to fuck your asshole now.  i want your hands behind you, spreading yourself for me.  Open your ass more.”

i’m blushing, it seems unreal – and when i’m slow to obey, He smacks my ass, hard, and i feel a new gush of wetness.   “Now,” He says. 

Quickly, obediantly, i bring my hands behind me. 

Place them on my ass cheeks.

And pull, spreading my cheeks.  Opening myself for Him.  Whimpering,  feeling totally vulnerable, totally open, totally His.

And then, i feel His cock between my cheeks, at my pussy, He rubs Himself in my juices, lubricating Himself.   The shaft of His cock slides lengthwise between my cheeks, i feel it thick and hard.  Threat and promise.

i feel Him pull back, His cock in His hand – pausing –

             the head of His cock pressing at the entrance, pressing at my asshole –

and then…

Service…and then

i’ve been working my way through the “languages of love” in my last few posts – gifts, spending time, service, physical touch, and verbal touch – and building a fantasy to hold me over til my Sir gets back.  (Three more days…)

Today, i’m on service, a favorite topic for many of us submissive types.  i love ‘serving,’ if that means doing things that please, things that are helpful. 

In my vanilla life, my job is a kind of serving – as a psychotherapist, i help people find their way.  Some therapist assume a dom-ly role, conceptualizing the client’s problems in a way that lends itself to giving advice and “fixing.”  

My stance tends to be that life’s a journey and we may walk together for a while.  On the way, i expect my client to share her experience, and i’ll point out the things i see.   And teach her some of the things i know.  Whether or not they’re helpful, whether or not she uses them, is completely her call.   I’m there to help, and if she wants me to lead the way, i can do that.  But it’s really about serving her goals.

In my personal life, i’ve learned to set some boundaries for myself and others.   You know, i have some experience with relationships in which i could never do enough to please – where what i brought to the table was never quite adequate. 

That’s probably warped me out a little bit, in the way that we all get warped by life.   It can keep me poised on the brink of taking my toys and going home.  i own that – {laughing} – really, i think i’m kind of entitled to it! 

But i do love to serve, and to please.   i’ll go a long way for a “good girl.”   The deep fear for me is that i’ll go a long way, and then be told that He didn’t want that anyhow.  That it was a pointless trip. 

The nice thing – well, one of the nice things – about BDSM is that the exchange is explicit.  At least some of the time, i know what He wants.  And He knows that i want to give it to Him.  Whether “it” is the orange juice He likes, or cock worship.

Sometimes, it’s remarkably easy.  Like (yes, here we go) – like where i left myself yesterday…

…on my knees, bent over, with my back to Him.  Filled by Him – He has penetrated me in both places, with..

{it still makes me blush and squirm to say it – even to think it} 

     um, His fingers are in my pussy, probing, pressing against me… and His other hand, um

                  He has two fingers – two whole fingers – in – well, in the rear entrance –

which is usually not an entrance at all for me – and if you had told me He would be here, i might have said, “o, probably not.”  But here i am, on my knees, doing my best to rock back into His fingers, moaning with pleasure and really – omigosh – really wanting more.  And then…

much to my dismay, i feel Him pulling His fingers back, not from my pussy, those are still there, but from – my ass.  As He does it, i feel this – emptiness – O, i want His fingers back!

“Sir, please Sir, don’t stop – o, please…”

“I thought you might have had enough,” He says, and i notice, as if from far away, that there’s laughter in His voice.  He’s teasing me.  i can’t believe He’s teasing me.  Now.  

“Sir, no, please Sir,” i’m begging.  i’m actually begging Him to put His fingers in my ass.  And then…

He does.  But there are more fingers this time, three maybe.  His fingers are not dreadfully thick, He has elegant hands, but this is clearly more.  It stretches me –

– which scares me, just a little, i can feel it stretching me as He presses them – they’re in a little bit, i’m a little tense, i’m thinking it might be too much – and then –

He pulls them out again – Omigosh – no, plesase…  i’m begging again, “O, no, Sir, please,” and i laugh, but it’s almost a sob  – “Please come back,” cause suddenly i feel so empty.

“Come back?”  He says lightly.   “Whataya mean, ‘come back?’  Tell me what you want.”

And then i realize He’s going to make me say it.   And i don’t know if i can. 

“i want  – You, Sir, i want – i want You to do what You were doing, please, Sir…”

“Like this?” He says – and His fingers slide inside me again, filling me, o, yes, omigod, yes, sliding further in this time, o, o yes – moving deeper – and then –

“Like that?” He says, as He pulls them back out.

And i think i will die, die from the emptiness, the need , the longing.  “Sir!” and i’m almost indignant – “Sir, please, please, please don’t stop!  Please???”

i’m trying to rub myself on His other hand, the hand that is still in my pussy, the hand that is carefully avoiding taking me over the edge.

“What do you want?” He asks again.  “Tell me what you want.”

“Your fingers,” i say.  “i want Your fingers” and i don’t care anymore if i’m embarrassed, i just don’t care – “i want Your fingers in my ass.  Please.”

“Well, they weren’t exactly in your ass,” He says, stroking a butt cheek, slapping it lightly.  “This is your ass,” He says.  “Where did you want My fingers?” and i can tell He’s amused, but omigod, i’m not – i’m desparate.

“In.  My.  Ass.  Hole,” i say.  And then –

    – no point in being coy i say it again, “In my asshole, please, Sir, i want your fingers in my asshole.  Please,” and my body’s clenching again, shivers running through me, and all of me is focused there, yes on my asshole, longing for Him to fill me again.

And i notice, just notice, that i don’t care if it hurts, i might even want it to hurt.  It might be ok if it stretches me beyond comfortable.

And then…

Spending Time…and then

i went to the Fourth Sunday munch last night.  It’s the third time i’ve been, and i was definitely more comfortable than the first two times.  It’s a tiny munch, compared to the weekend one; maybe only 10 or 15 people were there last night.    This time, there was a man named Master J who sat next to me.  We talked through most of the evening.  He’s a master of corny jokes, so i was well entertained.      

i talked to some other people too, and finally – yes, i know it’s only my third time there – finally started to feel like i was making some connections.   Which made me think about spending time, one of the “languages of love.” 

i don’t “love” the kink community here.  There are other communities i’m involved in that i do love – my church community, a volunteer group i spend time with, and of course, my little blogging community.   But i know that love builds on itself.  So we show love, express love, by spending time with people.  

AND if i spend time with people, i’ll grow to love them.

Not just any kind of time though.  It has to be focused time. Time spent being open and receptive.  With kids, we call it “quality time.” 

i think Doms are experts at giving that kind of time.  Sir D has a look, a tone to His voice, when He’s focused on me that is as arousing as His touch.  And for sure, play time is quality time. 

Sir and i don’t have a lot of time together – well, more than some of you, but much less than Mick and Molly.  So when we have time together, it’s a gift.   Whether it’s a phone call or an IM, or face-to-face time, it’s important. 

One of the things i love about mindfulness practice is that it increases my ability to focus on what i’m doing right now.  i try to bring my full self to my time with people, no matter who it is.  With Sir, that’s easy because He pulls me to Him anyhow.  There are so many ways He does it.  With words.  Tone of voice.  His hand in my hair .  Or –

– like how i left myself – on my knees, bent over, with my back to Him and – o, my, it makes me blush to say it now – blush and squirm – He has one finger inside me, not in my pussy, um, you know –

– blushing –

He has His finger in my – um, in the smaller entrance – it is deep inside me.  He is holding it there, not moving.  And i have felt myself open  to Him, i told you that.  Felt myself slide deep into submission.  Open and receptive, and willing to do anything He asks of me.  My self is His right now.

And then…

…His other hand is, omigosh, His other hand is reaching around to stroke me from the front, omigod, caressing my inner lips, seeking the nub of pleasure – omigod, i feel myself tighten on His finger, and it feels – o, it feels good – how can that be?

The finger on my clit stops, holds where it is, keeping me there too, poised on the brink.  i am lost – wordless – spinning into space – and then –

He slides another finger into my ass.  Easily, quickly, there is no resistance from me.  i open to take it, accept it.  i want it.  i want everything He wants to give me.  i am receptive, relaxed and open – and i am strung tight, ready to explode with pleasure. 

i begin to move, i can’t help it, impaling myself deeper on His fingers, trying to press my clit against his finger, trying to rub myself on Him and –

– for a moment, i picture myself there on my hands and knees in front of Him, rubbing on Him shamelessly, seeking more of Him… and then…

…He slides the finger that had been on my clit inside my pussy.  My pussy that is so wet, the scent of me fills the air, his finger slides in, then another, o – maybe a third one – and i’m caught

     – filled

           – completely taken

rocking back and forth on His fingers, moaning with pleasure.  Seeking more – more – please, Sir –

And then….

*******************************************

 Four more days.  Just four more days til i see my Sir.

Reading Fetlife…and then

i was reading a discussion on fetlife last night – people describing how they create love, or something like that.  One of the responses referenced the five languages of love:  gifts, service, spending time, physical touch, and verbal touch (affirmation.)  I remember reading something about that concept before, but hadn’t given it much thought.  Last night, it interested me.

The person on fetlife suggested we consider which “languages” we most like to receive, which we’re most comfortable giving, and so on.  You know, i like those kinds of things – playing with categories, restructuring the way i think about something, even for a few minutes.  So i’ve been thinking about it.

I’m not sure which “language of love” i most like to hear.   Don’t misunderstand – i like all kinds.  “Gifts” is probably last on my list, although i do like getting presents.  And i understand that sometimes they’re a person’s best way of saying “I love you.”  But – like the last Christmas I was married, B, my 2nd husband, gave me a bunch of really nice presents.  Pearls, and a fancy camera, and a plush, infinitely warm, cranberry colored robe, and a bunch of other stuff too.  

But i knew they were guilt gifts, meant to distract me from commenting on the intense affair he was having with alcohol.  So it was hard to really feel good about it.  i didn’t give them back or anything though, i still have them, even though i only wore the neckace and earrings once.  i’m not really a pearls kind of gal.  (Ok, no puns or double entendres intended there.) 

On the other hand, one day, back when i was a senior in high school, i was in this donut shop where i used to hang out.  i got to talking to a young man who’d just gotten out of a mental hospital.  We talked for a long time, and he ended up giving me a painting he’d done when he was in the hospital.   Seriously – i’m not making this up. It was – it was like a  finger painting done with oils.  Very strange.  It wasn’t well done, or even asthetically pleasing.

But i kept it, up in my closet, for at least 10 years, maybe 15 years.  i remember i still had it after i got married the first time.  Every time i’d start to throw it away, i’d remember his face, and i just couldn’t do it.   i still remember his face, even now, so i guess it was ok to get rid of the painting.

i like giving gifts, but it’s not my strong suit.  i hate shopping, and have a limited tolerance for it, so my gift giving tends to be erratic.  Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it misses the mark.   i’ll write you a poem or tell you a story in a heartbeat though.  And i like to give gifts connected with spending time together.  Gift certificates for dinners, or plays, or even movies. 

My nephew, one of his Xmas gifts was always a shopping trip with Aunt Aisha with a “gift certificate” for a few bucks and lunch.   When he was little, he loved it; he’d always carefully bring the certificate (which i’d made) with him, and show it to me, like i really needed to see that he had it.  Then, after he’d bought his pokeman stuff, or game boy game, or whatever, we’d go have McDonald’s, a sacrifice on my part that he appreciated.  He’s 16 now, and not so thrilled with a few bucks or hanging out with Aunt Aisha as he used to be, although he still humors me sometimes.

So this is taking longer to write about than i thought it would, and it’s awfully vanilla too, isn’t it?  Maybe i’m just avoiding thinking about where i left myself before.   You know, on my knees, bent over, with Sir behind me.

You know, caught between fear and desire, as He traces the path from my pussy, dripping wet, steaming hot, to the tighter entrance.  The entrance that puckers more when He touches it.  A shiver runs through me, a spasm really, as if my whole body clenches and throbs.

i make a noise – a moan, a whimper, a plea?  His finger is still there, pressing lightly.  My heart races with excitement, and dread.

And then – His finger is still so wet from my pussy, it happens quite easily – He slides it inside me.  Just barely in, and He stops.  All of my mind is there – right there – on that tiny one inch invasion of my self.  Frozen, i wait,  expecting further assault.  Anticipating with fear, and longing.

And then – “Does that hurt?” He says.

His voice seems to come from far away.  i have to stop and think, my mind has lost its words.  At last –

“No, no, Sir.  It doesn’t hurt.” i say, realizing that of course it really doesn’t.

“Are you breathing?” He asks, and i hear a touch of laughter in His voice.  i stop and check myself – no! i don’t think i am breathing.  Or just barely. 

i start to breathe.  “i am now, Sir, thank you very much,” i say, and am surprised to hear a note of laughter in my voice too. 

And then His finger slides further in, and i gasp, omigosh…  Just that one finger, and it feels like all the world is centered there.  My body clenches again, my pussy is dripping, i may melt into a puddle of my own juices… and suddenly, i feel myself open to Him.

It’s the feeling i long for, the one that scares me.  As if everything in me is open to Him.  Like a flower blooming, i suppose.  Turned toward Him.  My body, my heart -both are totally open to Him.  In that moment, i belong to Him more intimately than ever before. 

He could do anything He wanted with me.  i know, maybe He always can, but right now i’m so aware of it, aware of my submission.  i’ve fallen deep into it; it’s like floating in a sea of submissiveness. 

Totally aware of my willingness to please Him.  My desire to please Him.  In that moment, that’s all there is.  Him, and me wanting to do whatever He wants.   Wanting Him to want me to do something – i don’t care what.

And then…

*******************************************************************

Five more days ’til i see my Sir again.  Just five more.