Under His Hand » 2007 » July

And then He was gone.

For ten days in Florida. :(

I suppose we knew travel was inevitable. You cannot be a Field Service man if you don’t go out into the field. But the amount of travel is highly reduced so I can’t complain (much).

It was pretty last-minute, this trip of His. The powers-that-be had been assuring Him that He wasn’t going anywhere. So Monday morning He finds a travel itinerary for a Tuesday morning flight. When we were getting ready for bed last night, He stood at the foot of the bed looking at me. The phrase “we’ve run out of tomorrows” ran through my head. It must have ran through His too, because He set out to cram 10 days worth of fun and fucking in to one night.

I think He meant for me to feel Him for the next 10 days. My battered pussy just might!

Three times He fucked me, the last one early this morning. I’m not sure that much of anything else drives home the inequality of our sex life like being pulled from a sound sleep and gruffly told to “get under the desk, cunt, NOW.”

I have all of the ‘vanilla’ woman leftovers poking through the sleepy-fog of my brain at times like that. I grumble (silently, mind you) things like “ever hear of foreplay, Mister?” or “I’m not in the mood, I’m SLEEPING, for fuck’s sake!” All while I obediently drag my half-asleep ass out of bed and stumble-walk my way across the room toward the desk.

I can’t even look at Him. Not only am I too bleary-eyed and picking out eye-gunk, but I know He’s standing there, naked and hard, grinning like a damn fool. I can hear His little grunts of approval and feel His arousal. It irritates me. Because I am not aroused and I am not excited and my pussy is already sore from the two poundings He gave me last night and the very last thing I want to do is climb under that desk and be fucked again.

He told me to get my toy (bullet vibe), which really was nice of Him, but I was quite the unappreciative cranky-butt this morning. “I don’t want my toy.” and that one I DID say outloud, though I mumbled it. He, of course, didn’t care about that either and told me to get it anyway and to hurry up about it.

So under I went, and in He went, and it was every bit as painful as I knew it would be. I vibed like He told me to, really just desperately searching for the spot, the one spot on my clit that suddenly makes whatever is hurting feel good. But it was well and truly hidden. His cock continued on, relentless. As I was down there, biting my own arm to keep myself quiet like He prefers, I decided His cock was covered in sandpaper and I was being abraded from the inside out!

You know once you get that mental picture in your head, it seems to manifest itself. The more I kept imagining being fucked by a roll of sandpaper, the more it felt exactly like that. I may very well feel this one for ten days at least.

I know that He knew that I wasn’t into it. I know that no matter how quiet I am, I have to be exuding reluctance and irritation and just general, leave-me-alone-ness. I’m not going to say that He particularly enjoys me when I feel that way, but neither does it ever stop Him from going about His business with me. I don’t guess I really understand that. I know if it was me and I even suspected that the person I was fucking didn’t want to be fucked? I’d be all out of horny quicker than shit.

But as usual, some several hours later and I’m riding the “high”, secure in my place in things and glad that He can ignore what I’m feeling in the moment and give me what it is I really need for long-term completeness. I am sore (understatement of the year) but it’s serving it’s purpose. I’ve thought of Him and His cock and being ordered under the desk every time I’ve peed, every time I’ve sat down, every time I’ve crossed my legs. I’m very *aware* of my cunt. HIS cunt.

I think His favorite thing, ever, to say to me when He comes at me with His cock in His hand is “I’m going to fuck you raw, cunt.” I know so many of you out there are going to nod along with me when I say this; how wonderfully-horrible does it feel to force yourself to stay in position, to keep your legs spread wide and your pussy (or ass) cocked right up there for them to just pound at over and over and over, for, God.. forever. Knowing why you are doing it and exactly who you are doing it for, and fighting every self-preservation instinct you have to pull away, to block, to curl up in a tiny ball as far away from that cock as you can possibly get. To ignore that screaming voice in your head in favor of the calmer, quieter one as He pummels your insides to mush. How incredible is that?

When it’s over, of course. ;)

Oh pictures. Right. The man wants His pictures posted.

Pictures back here