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Kristen gets off easily. When we were discussing it last night, she said there’s a point after we’ve been fucking for a bit where she can simply tighten and it happens, so after a while she can basically come on demand. I start murmuring, “do it again, come for me, do it now,” and she does, almost every time.
It’s a bit of a miracle to me, as someone who takes a while to gear up and get off, and as someone who dated someone pre-orgasmic for four years (four years! We weren’t even open, I didn’t make any single person (except me) come in four years, it was torture). I have written about how it’s hard for me to get off around here somewhere.
I love that she comes like that. It is one of the things I crave most about sex: being able to give someone else that feeling of orgasm, of momentary loss of control, of la petite mort. I love the power of that exchange, the way she wants it from me, the way I keep her poised on my fingers or tongue or cock. I have tried to keep track, but I always get distracted, or loose count, or can’t tell when one ends and the next begins, sometimes she just goes and goes. I have asked her to count, telling her I’ll let her out of the ropes after she gets to ten.
Lately, we have been playing more with the torture of waiting, with making her beg for it, with keeping her writhing but not touched until she can’t stand it. She has noticed has orgasms are stronger and bigger the longer she waits, so that made us implement something else new: to make her ask permission before she can come.
This is mostly because I can’t always tell when she gets close, can’t even always tell when she starts coming, sometimes it’s a cry of ecstasy not unlike being bitten hard or fucked well and I can’t tell if she’s close or expressive. So she has to ask.
She waits until she’s so, so close, as if she’s forgotten she has to ask, then forces out the word: “Please?”
“Please what?”
“Please can I?” Gasping.
“Please can you what?” I don’t let up with my fingers thrumming her clit, my cock shoving inside her. I know she’s on the verge.
“Please, can I come!”
“… No.”
Seems I need to remind her that she has to ask if I want it to be ongoing, though, which I think I do. It is easy for both of us to skip over the asking and go right to the coming. And sometimes having one or two orgasms seems to open her up, make her able to take more, deeper, harder. So sometimes perhaps it’s best to let her come a few times before starting to deny her more, to build up to a larger release.
We’ve added this element of asking permission into sex on various occasions in the last few months, but I think it’s worth continuing to explore. I don’t really know how it’ll work yet, but I love the power dynamic of it, love the extra element of control over her body and her orgasm that I get to play with having. Love how she gives that over to me. Love how I can feel like I can sculpt her rise and fall of energy and release – no, not yet, not yet, keep it building, just a little longer, you can hold it in, hold it back, wait, wait … now: let go. This is what I love about being a top, too, at its very best – being able to sculpt someone else’s experience of their body, sensation, release.
Last night, I wanted her to wait until I was coming, until I came, to let herself come, but I couldn’t quite say that, I wasn’t quite confident of my own ability to get off. I wish it was more consistent for me. I can never quite tell when or if it’s going to happen, I can’t seem to make it happen. The factors all seem variable: sometimes I feel disconnected from her and I come anyway, sometimes I feel totally connected and can’t. Sometimes I don’t expect it and it happens, sometimes I do expect it and it happens. Sometimes I don’t try and it surprises me. I came twice on Saturday, that’s rare, but somehow I had the angle, or the harness placement, or the mental turn-on, and it worked.
Someday, that’s what I want. To use her like that, to be oblivious to her pleasure until I get mine. To take what I need.
That feels extremely vulnerable, because it goes against what I’ve been taught – to be respectful and conscious and interactive in our sex lives. But consent in this kind of play can sometimes trump what is “supposed” to happen, and perhaps will move me into new realms, to explore new interactions, to move into new personal realms, weave knowledge into our bones. And oh my god the very idea makes me so incredibly hot.
There is so much to explore here, with her, I still feel we’ve barely scratched the surface. And I just want more, and more, and more.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, when we have sex,” she said last night. “I don’t know if it’ll be sweet and lovely, or some crazy tantric energy release shit, or if I’ll be your little girl, or if it’ll be dirty and kinky.”
We seem to be moving from one into another more and more fluidly these days, able to turn on a dime and make something that was full of dirty talk and name-calling and control and, occasionally, pain, into something sweet and sensual, or into some deep-breathing chakra release. We seem to have a little bit of all of it, all the time, and that is near perfection.
When things get a little out of control in my life, I crave power sexually. Crave that rush that I get when someone’s body struggles and gives in, gives over.
I’ve been craving power lately, like a drug, a junkie needing a fix. My fantasies are getting increasingly harsh and occasionally violent, which sometimes scares me. Sex acts alone don’t seem to be enough to get me off. And since I got a Pure Wand from one of my favorite sex toy stores, and since Kristen moved to my neighborhood, I’ve been getting off a lot more in general. I’ve wanted a good g-spot insertable that is not a cock; as my own cockcentric sexuality has developed I have been more averse to being fucked by a cock, but I still do enjoy that feeling of being filled, of squeezing tight around something, of straining to open.
But: back to power. I feel it from my fantasies and it rushes through me, I feel it coursing in my veins, muscles, tendons, bones. I want to feel strong, crave it, want to feel invincible, indestructible, like I can do anything, have anyone, take anyone down.
While getting off the other night, I let my mind wander. Scary when I do this, sometimes, for the dark places it goes. I ask myself, why is that hot? Why does that ‘do it’ for me, when so many other things don’t?
Power is sexy.
When did those wires get crossed in me? I watch and observe the ways that I am built, deep, where I allow myself to be overridden, to be rewritten, where I allow myself to get overwhelmed by the outside world, empath that I am I cannot help but to take it all in, and sometimes I crave so deeply to push back, draw thick lines around myself shut out the world. And lately – the past few years – that has manifested in sex as my topping, my desire to control, coerce, force, overpower, take, split open, break down.
And when things feel out of control, I crave it all the more.
I question the health of this, at times. But I am nothing if not extremely, extremely careful, cautious – overcautious in fact, overanalytical and overobservant, paying so much attention to others that sometimes I forget to pay attention to myself. And that’s why I crave this kind of play: situations that we construct, consensually, in order to explore power. Because just as I crave to take, control, overpower, so does someone else seek to be taken, to be controlled, to be overpowered.
There’s nothing really to say about the Pure Wand that hasn’t already been said. It’s one of the most coveted sex toys out there – ask any sex blogger and they’ll swoon over it a little. It’s beautiful, sleek and heavy, made of solid stainless steel. The weight of it in my hand (and in my cunt) makes me feel more grounded, more solid, more rooted to the earth. And I need that right now. Perhaps it’s the vibrant brightness of midsummer’s long, long, endless days that makes me feel exposed, like the spotlight is shining on me, like I’m being burned to light instead of my feet in the dark thick mud of the earth, that creative, nurturing soil where life is made, where strength and power flows freely.
I crave it. Desire it. Want it, need it.
A beautiful book I was reading yesterday deconstructed the word “want” a little, explaining that to be in a state of wanting is to always be in a state of inadequacy, of incompleteness, of unsatisfaction. The author was specifically discussing how to state intentions around the creative process and tapping into a spiritual source, and the ways that intention actually communicates with energy and manifests reality. I love this idea, and I do understand the ways the concept of “want” puts us in a state of less-than, of not-whole. And while I do also crave that state of wholeness, this feeling of deep desire that arises in my belly when I start to feel the power rising in me is at times intoxicating, and I wouldn’t want to give that up. But perhaps instead of feeling like that puts me in a state of desire and want and thus inadequacy, maybe I can think of it as being in a state of power, of control, of strength. Revisioning that, just ever-so-slightly, means that I become what I am to be, instead of wishing I was in another state.
Because perhaps I have already arrived.
Buy the Pure Wand at Babeland.
Do you remember: once, we were driving in your car, not sure where we were going, perhaps home from writing class, we spent a lot of time in your car then, but I remember precisely where we were, on the freeway under the Convention Center on I-5, and I think we were coming from an event somewhere, downtown maybe. We were talking about our friends, and living our own truths, and you said you can often see the downfalls and shortcomings of those around you. So I asked you what you thought mine was. "Power," you said. "You don't know your own power, your own strength."
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I want you to only address me as Sir.
I want you to start playing with your clit ten minutes before I arrive, but under no circumstances are you allowed to come.
I want you wearing high heels and a short skirt with nothing underneath.
I want your safeword to be carnation, which means, you can yell no all you like, but I will not stop.
I want you ready to bend over my lap struggling as I spank you. Lift your dress up and turn your ass-cheeks red until my hand hurts. And then you’ll kiss it, suck my fingers, make it better. I’ll scold you for making me all hard and wanting, and you’ll straddle me and ride.
I want your explicit consent. I want your permission and submission.
I want you to know how to draw it from me. I am afraid of my own power. I want you to pull these cruelties from me, to beg for them. I want to take your energy and mine into one huge fireball that I will weild and you will receive. I want your surrender. I want you to make me feel like the biggest, baddest top in the room, even if I’m not.
Can you do that for me?
Jacks on 
Lenore on 
Shereen on 
