posted by Ferns on e, play

We are incompatible in many ways. Really, many. And we have already hit some rough spots, before even meeting.

And yet… and yet… there is something special there.

Something…

For the first time (yes, the first!), I did a tiny little bit of play with him. Miniscule, hardly anything at all.

We have a short phone call at 11.30pm, so I can tell him a bedtime story.

We talk about trivialities: my stubbed toe, his dog hair problem, wine…

I listen to him brush his teeth, a domestic intimacy.

He calls me ‘sweetie’, it is… well, sweet.

We talk and joke about nothing much at all.

I ask him later if he is already in bed. He says he is, of course. We talk some more.

Time for the bedtime story.

I tell him to get out of bed, to kneel by it, and to ask me if he can get into it.

It surprises him. It is the first time I have asked anything like this of him.

I hear him shift, a deep breath, I can almost taste it. He makes a sound as if he is reeling, it is quite lovely.

He gets out of bed, and gently asks if he can please get into bed. I can hear that he is turned on by it.

I say yes, and thank him for it, amused and aroused by this small gesture.

He tells me through a smile that he is hard now. I have not made it a rule yet, but I like it when he tells me… it is hot to hear him say it out loud.

“Also… no touching your cock while I am reading to you…”

He groans at that. “Okay…”

“Pardon?”

“Okay Ma’am, yes Ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought you said…”

He checks again. “No touching at all?”

“None, unless I say you can, which is unlikely…”

“Yes Ma’am, that seems unlikely.”

I tell him to shush then.

I read The Afternoon – Part III of our day to him. He makes small inarticulate sounds in my ear as I read to him in a low soft voice.

I allow him to touch himself for two sentences worth, twice. He thanks me and his tone gets a different tenor, lower, concentrated. His voice in my ear makes my stomach flip over. I tell him to stop when the two sentences are done.

When I finish the reading, I pause for a moment, then say goodnight, and hang up.

When I get off the phone, I slip a finger down to my pussy. I am so fucking wet, my finger slips easily between my lips, completely slick. Just from that. I come about 5 minutes after the phone call ends.

That’s the zing-zing right there. I don’t know how or why it sparks, but sometimes it just does, and when it does, small things like that hit me just right. He gives back to me exactly what I am giving out and it makes me want more. There’s something about him that just works for me.

Zing zing, baby.

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posted by Ferns on e, play

…the day is not nearly over…

It is about 3pm, and we find our way back home. We take the shopping inside (yes, we bought things for dinner!), you are, I think, all expectant and edgy now, which makes me laugh. I make idle chit chat about what you are making for dinner while you put the shopping away, you are nodding at me, but really, you are waiting. What are you waiting for?

I go and sit down while you finish putting things away, snap my fingers and point to the floor at my feet. You look… relieved? Quick strides have you kneeling on the wooden boards between my legs. I cup your face up to me, kissing, to see what is there. Is there anything there?

Gentle nudging at your mouth to see what you are bringing to me. If it is good, you can make me rabid with it, crazy-aggressive, to that point where it barely resembles kissing anymore, it is more like some smashing thing, awkward and fucked up and I will forget that I intended to have you take my shoes off, to have you bring me your collar.

I will be shuffling to the edge of the couch, wrapping legs, grabbing at your shirt, shoving at you, I know it is hard to figure out what I want, I really just want to bang into you harder than that. Mouth open and trying to grab at you, biting at your lips, at your tongue as it enters my mouth, you know better than to pull away when it hurts, when you think I must be drawing blood. Holding your head in the crook of my arm, bending you over, pulling you against me, feeling your ribs against my legs, I want my cunt against your body, I widen my legs and move further into you to get it.

Then a hand at your throat to push you away from me and look at you, to see what is going on there, both of us breathing hard at the other, my fingers splayed on either side of your neck. I wonder if you will push against the pressure at your throat to get at my mouth, or if you will retreat quietly and wait. I expect to see any number of things, what I see will determine how it goes.

I might shove you away, just to see the disappointment on your face, I like it when you don’t get what you want. I like it when you want things, when you want me, when you want more, less, something else, this, that, the other thing, it really doesn’t matter. It’s the wanting that matters, and then the getting or not getting.

“Go and get your collar, boy.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“… and the blindfold.” I like blindfolds.

We have a spot for the collar, of course, and I wear the key to the lock around my neck. Maybe an anklet would be a good place for it, then I would have to put my foot on your neck to take it off. There is a little ritual for putting on the collar. Every time, you have to ask me to please put my collar on you and you lay your head in my lap while I do it up, and I get to pat you. It is sweet.

This time, though, when you return, I am rough with you, squashing your head against my thighs pushing your face between them, shoving it between my knees and squeezing, push-pulling you by the collar before it is even fully on, telling you to keep still, while shoving you around. When it is on, I push your face down to my feet.

“Why are my fucking shoes still on?”

You start to say something reasonable even as you fumble to undo them, and I laugh and tell you to shut up because I don’t care.

I tell you to kiss my feet once the shoes are off, I am lovely to you. I feel your lips against my skin and tongue lapping at my toes…

… continued here: Later that afternoon – Part IV…

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