I have been on a natural high for weeks. Sex with Lash is raw, primitive, uninhibited. Fantasies whispered, played out, pain, pleasure, ecstasy, all melt into one. The line between reality and fantasy crosses over on levels experienced perhaps by few. We've been together for 17 years—I thought sex was supposed to get duller—but not with us. I doubt anyone has what we have.
Desires. Happiness. Lust. All in one. The feeling of being one. Alive and accepting of myself regardless of who I am. I feel powerful. Finally, I know who I am and I don't' have to make any excuses.
It's awesome to be a sexual goddess. I want to be fucked often and hard. I wanted my nipples sucked, pinched, pulled, bit. The more intense, the better. I want my husband to devour me to take me with reckless abandonment. I come multiple times--3, 4 times a day. He uses nipple clips on me to heighten the pain and passion and plays with my clit skillfully. His strokes make me wild, primitive. I get on my knees—a sign that I want more intensity. He knows this so he licks his fingers to get my asshole ready. He doesn't need to moisten my pussy because it's already dripping and that's not what he's focusing on. He spreads my cheeks and bows down in between my legs. His tongue rims my asshole slowly at first, then darts into it. Slowly, rhythmically. Lapping it up. This is so fucking raunchy it gets me hot and wet. His teasing gets me hotter, building heat between my legs. I come easily and want more. I open my ass and he slips his thumb up there. I give out a soft moan, tilt my head back into his chest. He responds by sticking his two fingers into my cunt, thumb still up my ass. Oh wow, double fucks drive me wild. His other hand travels to my nipples, which he pinches and twists between his fingers. The intensity brings me higher. He spreads his fingers in my cunt, like making a peace sign, widening the circles he creates inside me. The intensity heightens and the contrast of pain and pleasure drives me wild. I buck and scream into my pillow so that the neighbors don't hear my passionate screams. I come again and convulse with pleasure. Come drips out of my cunt, clit swollen and raw. He kisses me with my come on his lips. It tastes a little sweet with a slight fishy taste to it. His tongue explores the rest of my body. I'm ready for more.
This is usually when fantasies kick in. This is when I want a woman with us to finger fuck me or fondle my nipples while I suck off my husband. Or vice versa. Sometimes I let him fuck her. It's a gift to him. A thrill for me to trust him with another pussy. I know how much he loves me. I know he would never leave me. I know this so much that I want him to have another woman as my gift to both of them. Lash is an excellent lover and our third deserves my husbands fat cock, magic fingers and delectable tongue. I know that it's not his fantasy. He doesn't need another pussy to fuck when he's got mine. But I get wet thinking of watching him fuck someone else, someone who has fucked me and made me come. I want him to have the same experience—of fucking someone else.
When I am that hot sex brings me to a higher state of mind. Among consenting adults, sex can take you to Nirvana. This is my belief. Three consenting adults. Why three? Three is my number.
So I can't figure out why I turned around.
We were in Oregon and free love was on my mind. We brought my vibrator, the Hitachi wand, the Rolls Royce of vibrators--clothes pins, rope, all the paraphernalia we needed to have the kind of sex we were accustomed to having at home. I confessed to him that I had been fantasizing about piercing my nipples. I thought it looked hot. I want future lovers to know that I like to fuck hard and love having my nipples be the focus.
We found a piercing shop, interviewed the owner, inspected for cleanliness and took the plunge. No doubts. No second thoughts. I did it. Pierced them. My husband stood by while he shoved two stainless steel bars into my large, brown, very suckable, nipples. They hurt like hell. A pain I didn't imagine. We walked gingerly to a bar, sat on their big comfy couches, ate nachos, drank two or three shots of tequila and I was out. Out for the count. It sedated me for my rebirth.
So why did I do it?
That's the question I ask myself. I'm feeling less like a sexual Goddess and more like a suburban mom trying to defend her position at a PTA meeting. I cover my nipples when I'm in the gym, I have dreams of people seeing my pierced ones and feel resigned to the shame of it. I am hiding my nipples just as I hide my sexuality. I am a bisexual too scared to admit it.
I'm facing in a different direction now. Not the same person I described at first. The sex is still good but I don't want to have my nipples played with as much. I am even protective over them. I can't quite figure out why the change in attitude.
Did I need self punishment to take me down from that high?
Am I not deserving of Nirvana?
Do I think that by exercising my power, bad things will happen...bad things will happen to my kids? Rationally, it doesn't make sense. But we're not talking about intellect or the physical, or emotion, but something deeper. I deserve to go to Nirvana but I can't get out of my own way. My husband knows this about me. Knows that when things go right, I feel unworthy of my good fortune and find ways to punish myself rather than glory in my power, know my worth.
That's when Lash steps in. He knows when I need a lashing. I like when he whips me with our hangers. I need it sometimes. Like now. He hates when I deprive myself, or put myself down. Hates when I put limits on myself. When I do that, he punishes me. I know I deserve it.