ADHD, Sex, & Me: Taking Initiative

Oliver and Birdie figure out a way for her to remember to take initiative in their sex life.

I twined my fingers with his and twisted our clasped hands, looking at them intently. I lay my head in the curve of his shoulder, absentmindedly keeping track of the plot of the episode of the West Wing we were watching. C.J. was flirting with a young Mark Harmon. He was nobly protecting her from a stalker, pretending to be unaffected by her strong, yet feminine character.

"What are you thinking about, sugarplum?" He asked, noticing my distraction.

I answered with a question of my own. "You know how people always talk about looking someone in the eye? Like it tells them that you care or you're paying attention or something?"

"Mhmm," he replied, running his thumb over the back of my hand.

"Why? It's pretty much impossible to focus when looking someone in the eye. If I'm looking someone in the eye, it's 90% probable I have no idea what they're saying."

He hummed. "I've noticed that about you, chickadee."

"About me? You mean, you don't experience that?" I asked, incredulous. I felt a secondary stab of guilt at the fact that his wording implied that he'd said some things that I had paid no attention to. I brushed that aside for a moment. I guess it made sense. Why would people insist on eye contact if everyone felt like it made their mind wander?

"No. It's common for people with ADHD, though," he said. I perceived, rather than saw, his left eyebrow raise.

"Well, I don't have that."

He snorted. "If it wasn't unethical for doctors to diagnose their loved ones, I'd probably have diagnosed you by now."

I turned to face him. "And here I thought we had agreed that you would take your psychologist hat off at the door."

"Of course. This isn't a session, though. It's just a conversation, sugarplum," he replied, smiling at me in that irritating way he had.

"Well, then. Maybe I should change the subject," I retorted.

"What would you rather talk about?"

"About how horny I am? About how I'd like nothing more to sit on your cock and rock us both to orgasm?" I offered sweetly, running my fingers down his chest.

"I'd been wondering how long it would take you," he said, pushing my hair back from my face.

"What do you mean, "how long it would take" me? Have you been waiting all this time for me to suggest sex?" I asked, poking an accusatory finger at him.

"When was the last time we had sex, chickadee?" He asked, a knowing smile playing across his face.

I narrowed my eyes, wary of where this line of questioning was going. "I don't know. Recently? Maybe a couple of days ago?"

"2 weeks and one day."

"Shit. That long? If you wanted to initiate something, you should have mentioned it. You know I'm always more than willing, Oliver," I told him.

"I know. I wanted you to initiate. I wanted to know how long it would take before you thought of it." Apparently, my face had contorted itself into some sort of expression because he added, "Please don't be mad at me, Birdie."

"I'm not mad at you, Ollie. I'm a little upset that you are playing psychology experiments with me, but I'm not mad at you," I assured him. Then I buried my face in his shoulder. "I'm more upset with myself for not thinking about your needs. About our relationship."

"Don't be upset, sugarplum," He said. "I'm not mad. I'm not hurt. I was just curious." I knew he wasn't upset with me. He had proven that by calling me Birdie. When he was angry with me, he called me Beatrix. That was one of the few times when he called me by my given name. That, and when he couldn't get my attention, he used the name Beatrix as a way to jolt me back to reality. The tone was completely different in the two cases, though. He continued, "You've been extra distracted recently. Hyperfocused on a new project, I know."

"It's an important paper. I could get into the ACS journal," I reminded him, feeling a bit protective of my current enterprise.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, chickadee. I know how meaningful this is to you. I'm proud of you and your work." He stroked my hair reassuringly, making me close my eyes and push my head back into his palm.

"I haven't been extra busy, though." I felt as though I needed to defend myself, despite Oliver's kind words.

"No, sugarplum, you haven't."

Silence permeated the room, making me practically vibrate with discomfort. All I could hear was the quiet whine of electronics and the slow exhalation of air conditioning. Oh, and the continuing drone of the West Wing in the background.

Finally, I blurted out, "Do you want me to initiate more?"

"Birdie, sweet girl, did my little observation really bother you that much?" He inquired, carefully trying not to give me a pitying look. I nodded. He stroked my hair. "I'm not concerned about it. I'm happy to be in charge of our sex life as long as you're happy to let me."

"Okay."

"You know what might help you remember to take initiative, if you really wanted to, sugarplum?" He offered, mischievously.

"What?" I asked, somewhat suspicious, but still eager to please.

"A good spanking."

The mere suggestion made my pussy clench. I wasn't a masochist, per se, but I loved the look of a bruise. I loved the transforming rainbow of color that happened when a bruise healed. I loved the dull pain that accompanied a bruise, much like the dull pain of the soreness after exercising. I loved the reminder of our sensual playtime.

He was right. I wouldn't be able to forget about sex after a good, hard spanking. Until the bruises faded, it would be on my mind constantly. Every time I shifted on my ass, I would be reminded of his hand (or his paddle, but I preferred his hand) caressing my impact-warmed cheeks and brutalizing them in equal measure. My breathing was already getting heavier.

Whispering, I begged him, "Please."

"Of course, chickadee," he acceded. He turned off the tv. I followed him to the bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for me to come to him.

I draped myself over his lap, shivering with anticipation. He pulled my panties down below my cheeks, exposing them to the cold air in the room. The feeling of his palm on my ass was electrifying. No less erotic was the quickly hardening bulge poking at me.

Without warning, he spanked me, hard. I yelped, surprised by the sudden action.

He rubbed the stinging flesh and teased, "Is my girl regretting her decision?"

Practically shouting, I rejected his assertion. "No! Please, Ollie, more, give it to me." We never used honorifics. Nicknames and pet names, yes, but never honorifics. It felt more intimate that way. I wasn't being spanked and used by my "sir" or "master." He wasn't experiencing submission from his "slave" or anything like that.

I was being spanked by my loving boyfriend. The same man who made my tea in the morning and told me terrible puns to make me laugh also used and abused me on a regular basis. We were just two people whose weirdnesses were compatible, and that somehow made it even more special.

Ollie chuckled at the desperation in my voice. "Don't worry, Birdie. I'm going to give you what you want, what you asked for." He punctuated this last bit with another smack. Then he really got down to business. Spanks rained down on my sensitive flesh in quick succession, barely giving my brain time to react to the information coming from my pain receptors. Every impact was on a delay until they all ran together in my mind, creating a constant burning sensation. At some point it stopped feeling like pain. It was just a tingling warmth spreading from my ass to my aching pussy.

Every smack made me whimper and moan in pleasure until Oliver decided that I'd had enough. "Your ass is nice and pink, sugarplum. Can you feel it?" he asked, rubbing the glowing curve of my backside.

"Yeah, babe," I whined, sounding like nothing so much as a creaky door, pathetic.

One of his hands caressed my slit, coming away wet. I heard him savoring my juices as he sloppily and deliberately sucked the cream from each of his fingers. "Mmm, wonderful," He praised, no doubt referring to the flavor of my soaking wet snatch. Returning his attention to my ass, he mused, "It's beautiful. But I think it would be even better red, don't you think?"

I almost came on the spot. My thighs clenched and my toes curled. I must have dug my fingers into his thigh too hard because he flinched slightly.

"I would love that."

Oliver tapped my back, which I took as a signal to stand up. I was a newborn foal, unsure on my feet. Ollie, sweetheart that he is, held me up. He ran his hands through my hair, peppering my face with tiny, tender kisses.

"Are you sure, Birdie?" he asked, looking into my eyes.

I nodded.

He groaned, palming his crotch. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Only because you are trustworthy, my love," I replied, giggling slightly at his desperation.

With that, the pressure of his palm on my back bent me over the bed. Oliver caressed my ass. He left my side for a moment but returned quickly with the paddle.

He started gently with the paddle, gauging my response in light of the damage that had already been done. Every dull thud of the paddle was a reminder. A reminder of him and his soft touches. A reminder of the bruises I would have. A reminder of the sex this would lead to. Every stroke was the thrust of his cock into my pussy, thrusting me up the bed.

There was no doubt that my ass would be deliciously purple the next day. When I could take no more, I begged for him to fuck me. "Please, Ollie. No more. I need you inside me."

He placed the paddle aside. The delicate trace of his fingers along my burning flesh sent shivers up my spine. Oliver leaned over me to whisper in my ear. "Your ass looks exquisite, chickadee. Do you think it can take any more?" He asked, placing a thumb suggestively on my puckered hole.

Fuck. He wanted my ass. The sudden trickle of liquid down my thigh told me that I wanted it too.

"Be gentle, please, babe," I said. I felt Oliver's cock twitch against my backside when I gave my permission.

He kissed my cheek. "As gentle as you need, sugarplum."

Oliver left for a moment to get the lube. When he returned, he started opening up my hole with one finger, worming his way inside. I moaned against the bed, fists clenched our bedsheets. I was desperately trying not to thrust myself against the pressure of his invading digits. I was failing.

Oliver was pleased. "I love nothing more than to know that you want this as much as I do," he praised, filling me with more fingers and more lube.

When I could take three of his thick digits comfortably, he removed his hand from my ass entirely. Both of his hands grasped my hips. Oliver surprised me by thrusting his entire length into my unexpectant pussy. My sharp intake of breath was completely overshadowed by the absolutely embarrassing squelch that came from my snatch when he entered it.

"Natural lube is the best kind. Wouldn't you agree, Birdie?" Oliver asked. I could hear the smile in his voice.

A whimpered "mmmmmm" was my only reply.

He thrust a bit to satisfy himself that he was thoroughly coated. Then I felt the tip of his cock at my asshole. My ass ached where he was pulling my cheeks apart, but I bit my lip against the pain. Oliver just stayed there for a moment, not moving, until I humped my ass back against his rod.

He laughed and began to enter me slowly, careful to stop whenever he met resistance from my tight passage. It seemed like hours before I felt his pelvis against me, his dick firmly seated to the root in my ass. It was a kind of torturous pleasure. I could feel the walls of my rectum pulsing around his rigid member.

Oliver eased in and out of me slowly. The movement felt endless, like I had never known a time when he wasn't thrusting into me this way. My back was damp with sweat. The awareness of my own arousal, weeping from between my legs, made my eyes prick with tears. All I wanted was release. At the moment I felt my greatest frustration, Ollie's fingers thrust into my desperate pussy.

My eyes rolled back into my head. The added touch overwhelmed my senses with pleasure. The sudden addition of his thumb against my clit made my knees give out. I might have slidden down to the floor if I wasn't held up by his arm across my stomach and his cock in my hole.

"Whenever you're ready," he instructed, voice thick with desire, "come for me."

Not five seconds later, the pleasure and the pressure in my body reached their peak. I cried out and reached back blindly for his hand, which he gave me, wet as it was. My pussy clenched at the air, causing, I am sure, a similar sensation in my ass. Oliver moaned and gripped both my hand and my waist even harder. His thrusts sped up until he stopped suddenly, releasing his cum into me.

As he softened inside me, he kissed my back tenderly, then pulled out. I felt so empty. Well, except for the cum that was already starting to leak out of me.

There was no way I was going to move. Oliver seemed to understand this because he pulled me onto the bed by my torso.

"Oh, sugarplum. All worn out now, are we?"

"In all the best ways, my love," I assured him. I yawned loudly into his chest, where I was cuddled into him. A few silent minutes passed in which my thoughts ran rampant, thinking about the amazing sex we'd just had and the reasons why. It was hard not to, considering my aching backside.

I broke the silence with a question. "Is it a burden on you?"

Ollie stroked my cheek. "Is what a burden on me, Birdie?"

"You know... the not ADHD," I said, refusing to acknowledge the idea that I'd had a mental disorder all my life that I didn't know about.

He took a moment before answering, making me think the worst. It was impossible not to notice that I was tense. Oliver started stroking my hair, as one might do to calm a frightened animal. "Still thinking about that," he sighed. "No, Birdie. It's not a burden on me."

I remained skeptical.

He continued. "You actually manage the symptoms pretty well. And the ways they manifest are pretty adorable."

I narrowed my eyes at him, thinking that he was merely trying to appease me, instead of being honest.

"For example," he said, giving me a pointed look that said I was on the verge of being disrespectful, "you always hyperfocus when reading. It's like nothing else exists around you. I don't know how many mugs of tea you've let get cold because you're too focused on the world in your book."

I don't know why I always insisted on drinking hot tea. I almost always forgot about it and found it again hours later, far too cold to enjoy.

"You're so cute like that, your tongue slightly peeking out between your lips when you're concentrating on a good book. I feel kind of bad when I have to break you out of it. You always look so confused. It's clear you don't know where you are, but a smile twitches on your face when you see me in the half second before you remember who you are." He smiled down at me. "It makes me feel loved."

My heart was absolutely melting. Only he could make forgetfulness sound attractive. "I do love you, Oliver."

"I know, Birdie," he said, kissing my forehead. "I love you, too. Trust me. You are not a burden."

"I'll remind you of that next time you have to tell me that I left my phone in the pantry," I joked.

He chuckled and shot back, "So, tomorrow?"

"Maybe today? I don't know where my glasses are."

"They're on the coffee table."

"I would die without you," I told him.

"You wouldn't. But I don't mind being the person who reminds you to eat." Then he waggled his eyebrows. "Or the one who reminds you to have sex."

I groaned. "For at least the next week I'm going to have a constant reminder," I said, referring to my bruised backside.

"I know. I can't wait."