The Best Laid Plans

So much for that one whole kid-free day.

We went away for the weekend, which was a lot of fun. It was busy as we’d gone there specifically so he (we) could visit with his family (and I got to hear about my MIL’s polyp surgery over dinner! Joy!) so we didn’t have a lot of time to ourselves.

Though we did take some time on Sunday morning to boil ourselves alive lounge in the whirlpool in our hotel room.

Oh! Saturday morning, before we headed out of town, we had some pre-dawn, pre-coffee, pre-shower sweaty animal sex, which I’m going to go on record and declare as a terrific way to end a dry spell. It made me all sorts of excited for Monday. You know, that kid-free day we were supposed to have.

We’re driving home Sunday night, kinda whispering to each other about what we’re going to get up to the next day (You know. That KID-FREE day we were supposed to have!).

There was talk of bondage sex.

Bondage sex happens to be my most very favorite thing EVAR.

There was mention of being put in my place because HE claims I’m getting “uppity”.

Bitch, please. As if. ~hair flip~

Then I remember I had a dentist appt. on Monday afternoon. We talked about whether or not I should cancel it, but because I couldn’t give 24 hours notice (though, fer realz, how are you supposed to give 24 hour notice for a Monday appt. to a place that’s closed Fri., Sat. and Sun.??) then they get all kinds of pissy. So he said to keep the appt., that it was close to when the kids would be getting out of school anyway so we’d probably be done by then.

Then I remembered an errand I had to run for a bill that had to be paid on the first so I remind him of that. He tells me I can combine it with the trip to the dentist.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning that I hated to miss another day at the gym since I wasn’t able to go all weekend and he told me in no uncertain terms that I’d NOT be missing the gym on Monday.

It starts niggling at me, these interruptions into our day, but okay fine, whatever. He’s the boss, yada yada yada. The class I usually go to is early. Like, I leave the house at 6:30am early. So our scheduled day o’ kink is getting a late start and an early finish, but no worries. We can still cram bondage sex in the middle, right?

Au Contraire, Mon Frère!

We’re driving along and I keep getting that feeling like I’m forgetting something. So I’m like, Dude. There’s something I have to do on Monday. He’s says, Oh I’m sure there is. I’m not even getting my hopes up cuz one of the kids will get sick or-

And then I remembered. Am had a appt. at the lab for a fasting blood test followed up by an appt. at the dermatologist for her accutane. Can’t reschedule because doc is going on vacation and she can’t refill her prescription without the lab tests. And you can’t really just skip a month of accutane.

Can’t go to the lab until 8am, her doc appt. is at 9am, then she’d need to eat, an hour minimum at the gym, there’s an hour to an hour and a half just in driving time (told you we live out in Buttfucking Nowhere, Mi.) so we’d not get home until noon-ish or later and she’d not even get back to school until afternoon and she’s whining about how stupid it is to go back to school at all when she’d only have 2-3 hours left and one of the classes is a study hall.

I can see Master calculating the possible time left for doing ANYTHING, if I don’t even get home until afternoon and I’d have to shower to wash the st(k)ink off and be at the dentist by 2:30.

He’s just shaking his head and laughing. One of those rueful, I-knew-it sort of laughs. “I’m taking a vacation day from all y’all.” he said. “You do your thing, I’m watching movies. And masturbating. Yeah. THAT’S what I’m doing!”

Well. Sum’bitch.

So. My day o’ kink turned into a day o’ kid. Oh well. After all the running, Am and I did some shopping at the thrift stores and we went out for a girls-only lunch where I ran into my favorite kinky-slut waitress. We had fun anyway. I enjoy Am’s company.

Master enjoyed his day, too. Escaping the world is needed sometimes.

And my cleaning and check up at the dentist was awesome. Though I got lectured on my flossing technique. Bah. Between Master, the dental hygienists and the sadist body pump instructor at the gym, I’m just about tired of being told what to do. Srsly.

Uppity, my ass.

(can’t you all just hear Master’s voice going “Thats right, cunt. I’m going to go ‘uppity’ your ass. Giggity-giggity.”)

Treading Water

I really want to have something bdsm-y and perverted to talk about- but I don’t.

Sometimes it just seems like we’re both just treading water and we’re not even in the same pool. He’s got some high-pressure stuff going on at work so he’s preoccupied, cranky and wants nothing more than a cold beer, a movie and a recliner when he gets home.

I’m.. I dunno what I’m doing. I’m doing my thing, I guess. The kids, the baby, the gym, the house- and giving him what he wants. Space and beer.

Other than the groping, of course. That never stops.

None of that really offers much in the way of blogging material though. How many times can I come here and say “well, today I went to the gym, cleaned the house, cooked dinner and watched the baby”? Boring.

We’re going out of town this weekend though, and then, should everything work out as we’re hoping it does, we might have most of Monday to ourselves with no kids. I don’t even care if we get up to any hinky stuff, I’m just looking forward to having some time with him alone.

We made the very mature decison to not turn the other’s preoccupation into a personal issue. I’m not feeling neglected or forgotten, I’m not positive that the sky is falling and we’re turning into vanilla beans. I’m giving him whatever support I can and not laying my shit at his feet. Likewise, he knows the baby wears me out, along with other things going on here, and he doesn’t harp on me about having to stay up late or not being able to keep the house as clean as I usually do or being too tired to fuck. (srsly. this child exhausts me. I’m starting to think that either Jes needs to find another sitter (which would just break my heart, really) or I need to go have a physical because I shouldn’t be this worn out.)

Anyway, everytime that one of us is “in the mood” and the other cannot, we just give each other a hug and remind each other that this is temporary and that we’re both still full of the desire, even if the opportunities seem few and far between right now.

Unfortunately, as I said earlier, blogging material is pretty lame these days.

But! This is a No Whining Zone. So. Eyes ahead. One of these days, we’ll get up to something juicy.

Having a Blonde Moment

No offense to all you beautiful blonde folk out there. I’m merely going by the definition supplied in the Urban Dictionary, which is “A flash of momentary stupidity”.

But because I’m a brunette and obviously smarter than the blondes ( ), I managed to halt that flash of momentary stupidity before it really got past my lips and into Master’s ears.

Here’s how it went.

He’s a groping kinda fellow. That seems to be a shared trait amongst people of his nature, this tendency to tweak nipples and grab crotches and smack asses… you know, just be fucking irritating take liberties with their property.

And sometimes, especially if I’m busy doing something, it gets on my nerves, like, woah.

I seriously, seriously, SERIOUSLY hate sneaky random acts of violence. Those swats that come out of nowhere when you aren’t expecting them fill me with a momentary rage that would make Joan Crawford look sweet. I handle it though. I mean, he’s aware of it- he just doesn’t much care…lol

I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and repeat as I’m counting to ten “It’s his right, it’s his right, it’s his right” and ta-da! All is right in my world again.

The sexual groping is different though. The majority of the time, it doesn’t even bother me. The majority of the time, the objectification is hot. The disregard of my feelings, the dismissal of what I’m doing, the callousness of his touch = hot.

Just sometimes… man. Sometimes I’m just not there. And after a couple of hours of his hands grabbing at me everytime I walk within reach– Grrs.

So it was that this time, I was bent over picking up baby toys, which, srsly? The least sexy chore. My mind was far and away, planning, actually, on how I’m going to get Babygirl to go to sleep soon because I’m exhausted. I didn’t even notice him behind me.

But sure enough, I feel his hand slipping between my legs, rubbing up in my crotch while my hands are full of blocks and rattles.

The blonde moment came in when I shot upright and said, rather snippily, “Seriously. Dude. Would you knock it off already.”

The brunette moment that saved my ass came about 0.28 seconds later when I started to say “Being treated like a cunt all the time is pissing me off.” and instead I shut my fucking mouth and waited for the repercussions of what I HAD said, and simply counted my blessings for what I HADN’T said.

They weren’t bad, the repercussions. He laughed, told me to get the fuck over it and finished his caveman-esque groping of my nether regions before wandering off, leaving me to give myself a stern talking to on remembering my place and purpose. (So you see Master? You don’t have to. I done already did it. *beams*)

Because I am a cunt. Being treated as such is not an inconvenience. It’s a privilege.

Think that would fit on my eyelids in tattoo form? Oy.

Sore

I’m sore. Everywhere. I’m hobbling around the house like a little old lady and I cry when Master touches me.

He’s not even the cause. He’s just reaping the rewards, the fucker.

The cause?

Body Pump Class.

Oh. My. Fucking God.

The saddest part? I’ve been to two classes. TWO. But there’s another one bright and early tomorrow morning and I’m wondering how I’m going to do it when I’m whimpering just by sitting on the couch. I’ll do it though (weather permitting, that is. We’re supposed to get some big snow storm.) because The Boss said I will.

Othewise, I’ve really just been busy. Happily so. Saturday morning was the first body pump class and then I came home to do some cooking and cleaning. We had Jack and Jill over for dinner and I used this recipe for a roast (with a few minor changes for ingredients on hand) and it was really yummy. We hadn’t had the chance to hang out with them for awhile so it was nice to catch up.

On Sunday, Master had some people over to do their geek-thing so I took advantage of not being needed for several hours and tackled some sorting/tossing/rearranging downstairs. I still have more I want to do. I guess I’ve given up on the construction project I wanted to do. Weather, time and, apparently, lack of interest on his part. Oh well.

Monday was another body pump class and I did 3 miles on the treadmill. Then I came home, showered, went grocery shopping, came home, cleaned…

Today, I cleaned and did laundry. Took Master’s work clothes to the laundromat so they don’t muck up my washer.

I’ve done a lot of babysitting, too. And now that she’s mobile, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am too fucking old for the whole baby thing. My word but she makes me tired. She’s definitely a high-maintenance girl. (Through no fault of mine, I’ll have you know!)

So, yeah. No fetlife, no blogging, no reading, no nuttin’. Work, work, work. Whine, whine, whine.

I want a slave of my very own. Anyone wanna apply?? There’d be perks!

I seriously had more but I just nodded off into the keyboard. I’m going to bed before I qwerty my forehead. Nighty-night!

Retail Therapy

Master sent me off today to engage in some retail therapy. He specifically told me to buy three NEW coats (a winter coat, a dressy coat and a windbreaker) but I talked him into at least letting me scout out the thrift store before hitting the mall.

What can I say? I’m cheap, man.

So, us four girls (me, jes, am and babygirl) headed out to Goodwill.

Our haul:

I got the 3 coats (including a Pelle hip length leather jacket), 2 books, and a purse.

Am got 4 shirts, a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

Jes got a coat, 7 shirts, 5 pairs of earrings and a pleather jacket.

Babygirl got 2 pairs of pajamas, 2 bundles of socks (about 10 pair), 2 pairs of shoes, 3 toys and a spring cap.

Total cost: $114.37

I couldn’t have gotten three new coats for that amount.

B-man, who is pickier about his clothes than most girls and who will only wear black band tees, ordered 4 t-shirts off the net for a total cost of just over $100.

4 shirts. Almost the same price as our haul.

Srsly. Thrift stores FTW!

I really like to use the line “Look how much money I saved you by spending money, honey!” It makes me feel deliciously, naughtily vanilla.

Good day.

Jes and I had a chance to clear some bad air that’s been lingering between us for the last week or so. So much of parenting is a learning process, trial and error, learning from mistakes, and she is no exception. At just 18, she has a LOT to learn. I’m finding it difficult to step back and let her do that.

Because I live here and because it’s all right in my face day in and day out, I don’t know how to watch Babygirl “suffer”** and not step in or take over or give (unwanted) advice. Half the time I’m arguing with myself, telling myself that she needs to do it her way, and then telling myself that since she lives here with US, she has to make allowances for the rest of the people in the house and if she wants to do it “her way” she needs to move out. But she can’t move out, not yet, so I’m right back to trying to figure out how to find a way for her to be the parent she wants to be while also not disrupting the lives of everyone else in the house.

Anyway, I’d snapped at her over something or other last week, having just had my fill of holding it all in, and since then we’ve pretty much ignored each other. Today we talked about it and vowed to be easier on each other.

(** Babygirl never suffers in the true sense of the word. Because I happen to think she poops rainbows, when she’s unhappy, I’m unhappy. Sometimes, it truly is a matter of Jes just not knowing what to do. Other times, babies are just fussy.)

I imagine this sort of thing will continue until she moves out. I don’t see a solution. The living situation throws my roles in both of their lives into turmoil.

Even with all of that though, I’m still focusing on the silver lining. There’s something about being a grandparent that just blows parenting out of the water. I don’t know if it’s age, if it’s the continuation of life (which, let’s face it, is pretty fucking cool) or what it is. All I know is that focusing on the negatives is a waste of time when I have this beautiful and delightful baby cooing up at me.

She learned to blow raspberries today. She’s sort of waving hi and bye. And she’s still just hours away from crawling. She gets up on her hands and knees and rocks back and forth, makes a shaky move forward and then drops to an army crawl. Any minute now she’ll be mobile.

Did I tell you that Master is hopelessly smitten? Omigod. So freaking adorable. One might think that watching this big strapping manly man hopping around the living room going “bouncy bouncy bouncy!” in a high-pitched squeal would ruin his reputation for being a hardass.

One would be right. LOL

He comes home from work and goes straight to her, all squeaking and making faces. “How’s my babygirl?! Huh?! How’s grandpa’s girl?! Are you my princess? You are! Yes you are!” and she just eats. him. up.

It’s so cute though. He likes to make fun of me for going overboard on toys, clothes, etc. But just watch him walk through the baby section one time. “Does she need this? Does she have one of these? How about this right here?”

Spoiled Little Rotten Tot. That’s what I call her these days. Rotten Tot.

Life is good.

Whispers In The Dark

We started by just lying next to each other and casually stroking the other’s genitalia. Soft whispers of appreciation for the touches passing between us. He easily could have finished me off with nothing but those magical fingers of his, strumming a tune across my body. I wouldn’t have complained.

Funny, though I was strumming my own pretty little tunes on him-as evidenced by the rigid cock pressing against my thigh-the more deftly he plays me, the less deftly I seem to be able to play him. My hands start to fumble and jitter until, defeated– but what a way to lose!– they stop and I’m lost in what he’s doing.

With a simple shift of his body, and without missing a note, he entered me. Slowly, smoothly. We formed a “T”, lying on the bed, with me as the leg, on my back, my legs tossed over his hips and he was the cross, on his side, pelvis to pelvis. Those soft whispers of appreciation turning into fervent murmurs of need.

With his free hand, he mauled at my breasts, clawing pinching squeezing. Alternately, I whimpered at the pain up top and moaned with the pleasure down below. My first orgasm came, stuttering, sharp, tiny explosions inbetween the surges of pain.

Then he shifted again, kneeling up and rolling me to my side. He straddled one of my legs, tucking the other securely up by my chest. From this position, he entered me deep, so deep that I gasped at the first thrust, a dull ache settling in my insides as he pressed into me. Leaning forward to find even further depth, he trapped a nipple between his powerful fingers and, crushing it, pinned it -and me- to the mattress.

He rocked against me, my hands fisted around the bedposts, those fervent murmurs of need shifting into heated grunts of lust. This time there was pain up top, sharp and consuming, and pain down below, dull and achey. Scream, he said to me, scream if you have to, and I knew he was going to batter me inside and out. That truth being just the aphrodisiac I needed, I lost the need to scream at the pain- and gained the need to scream through another, more powerful and much sharper orgasm, spasming against his thrusts.

Then he flipped me again, this time all the way over to my stomach, lifting my hips just enough to slide under them and take me again. There was no pain, not up top or down below, nothing but pleasure as he gripped my hips, long, hard, even strokes, finding his rhythm. Those heated grunts of need ratcheting up into frenzied groans of urgency as his pace quickened.

Just as I started to move with him, intent upon pulling his own orgasm from him, satisfied with my own, he dug his claws into my back and raked his nails down the tender skin along my spine. He grunted as he clawed, the sudden sharp pain leaving me breathless, shocked. He continued to scratch and claw down my ass, my hips, up my sides. There’s something my cunt does when I’m in pain that pushes him over the edge far far better than my worthless attempts to match his rhythm will ever do. Should I ever think that I know how to move to make him come, he’s only to knock me for a loop with a hard dose of ouch to show me that he knows exactly how he wants it.

That another orgasm came shooting up out of nowhere as his nails dug red rivers in my flesh shows me that he knows exactly how I need it, too.

Sure enough, just one shaky, whimpering breath later, he was pulling out, grabbing me by the hair and emptying himself into my mouth.

And then we were as we started, lying next to each, whispering.

Snow Day

Is there anyone NOT snowed in right now? Y’all have seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow, right? Yeah. We’re totally going to die.

Anyway, I can’t go anywhere and I’m completely bored out of my mind. I’ve been up since 5, the house is clean, dinner is in the crock, I’m working on Mount St. Clothes in the laundry room…

Fetlife is slow.

Nobody’s emailing me.

I can’t go to the gym (when I whined about that this morning, he merely pointed me toward the shovel and remarked how much exercise shoveling is.) (Boo on that, I say.)

(In fact, his theory that it’s easier to shovel one inch six times than it is to shovel six inches one time, while probably true, is one that I dismiss as valid in kaya’s world. The way I figure it, if I’m the one who has to shovel- and I am!- and if I want to shovel six inches once, then who *cares*? Let me struggle with it. I don’t want to go outside 6 times. I don’t want to go out there AT ALL, let alone 6 freaking times. Once is enough. The End. kaya has spoken.)

(Besides. Shoveling the sidewalk before it stops snowing is just st00pid.)

Here pretty soon I’ll have to babysit The Cutest Baby in the World so that’ll keep me busy (she’s mere hours away from crawling. She scoots backwards, though), but until then, anyone wanna share some recipes with me?

I feel like I’m in a cooking rut, having the same things over and over again, but nothing is inspiring me when I browse the recipe sites. So, once again, I turn to you fine people.

What’s something you’ve made recently that was full of the nom? Or what’s a favorite that you make for the fam? Heard of anything you want to try but haven’t?

I made pasta sauce the other day and posted it on the Domestic Blog. That was a new one for me.

I desperately need to make a run to the grocery store and was going to do that today. I can’t so maybe with some new recipes to look forward to, I can revise my list before tomorrow.

Today, I just threw a bunch of veggies, some water and beef bouillon in the crock and called it soup. I might thicken it later and call it stew. I’ll probably make some rolls or biscuits or grilled cheese or something to go with it.

What’s on your menu tonight?

Talking With Your Mouth Full is Rude!

Just yesterday I was participating on a thread on Fet about mindless obedience.

The question asked was just a kind of a generic “do you subs ever find yourselves obeying without thinking” and then went on to clarify that he wasn’t referring to orders like “Kill yer kids!” but more along the lines of blow jobs and coffee.

I was all like.. um yeah. Isn’t that the point? Who wants to be argued with over blow jobs and coffee?

Of course someone has to point out that we’re all after different things and some subs are encouraged to THINK about orders, blah blah blah.

So I said: Maybe.

But not right then. Mindless obedience first, yak later. He’s irritated with questions in the moment, clarifying details. Just do it, yanno, like Nike and shit.

That’s the background.

Last night, I was all horned up. He’d gone in to take a shower so I sprawled out on the bed and started without him, with my hand-dandy bullet. He comes out, sees me naked and wet and, surprise surprise, comes over and sticks his dick in my mouth.

Like I said, I’ve given him a few (hundred thousand) blow jobs.

But not really at THAT angle. I was laying down, he was standing beside me. My head was cocked funny, his dick was sideways… it was just all wrong.

He’s pumping away though, not really concerned with the odd angle-until, that is, his dick grew bigger than my mouth.

THAT’S not so unusual. He is bigger than my mouth. But at the right angle, I can minimize the teeth scraping and open my throat enough to make it work. At that fucked up angle, I couldn’t do anything.

I could tell he was getting frustrated. His orders to “open wider, cunt” weren’t disobeyed, they were just impossible. I’m limited by muscle, skin and bone, unfortunately.

At one point, he even took his fingers, shoved them into my already stuffed mouth and tried to stretch my lips and jaw into a wider opening.

(And is it incredibly sick that I had a brief mental image of my lips and skin splitting from his stretching, and blood pouring down my chin, and wondered how that extra lube might help and it made me hot, hot HOT? It is. Sick I tell you!)

Finally, he says, all exasperated and shit, “Can you feel that, cunt? Can you feel your teeth scraping?”

Do I follow my own words and just keep sucking, saving the chit chat for a later time? Do I adhere to my mindless obedience stance?

Why no. No I do not.

I popped his cock out my mouth and said “Well you know what? I can’t help it that I have teeth. I can’t move themumblemumblemumble….”

Cuz the rest of my complaining was incoherent mumbling with his cock being shoved back down my throat.

And he SAYS he cares what I have to say. Hmmph.

It once again occured to me that if he knew a kink-friendly dentist, I’d be toothless.

Now that’s bringing sexy back, yo.

Speaking of…

…Cooking:

Master’s having people over for dinner tonight. No pressure. It’s just his BOSS. And FIVE other guys. I figure if I keep the beer cold and coming, I’m golden.

…Cleaning:

I should be doing that instead of this. I’ve been on the go since 5am, did yoga, went to the store, cleaned most of the house- and now is break time. But a short one. I still need to shower and finish cooking.

…Assholes:

Comments will be moderated for awhile. I hate to do it because that makes blogging way more work than I like to put into it, but I find that assholes get bored pretty quickly once they lose their audience.

…Valentine’s Day:

We’re doing nothing. I want to do nothing. We have so many celebrations packed into such a short time (Jes’s birthday, Christmas and New Years, my birthday, Master’s birthday and Am’s birthday all within 7 weeks.) that by the time V-Day hits Master and I both cringe at the idea of doing anything different. Just a normal day, please and thank you.

…Birthdays:

Am turned 17 yesterday and for some reason, her birthday makes me feel old. Jes turned 18 and I turned 39, but it’s this 17th birthday that triggered the “you’re halfway dead” button. Bah humbug.

…Fat:

So I joined that gym I was talking about. It’s going pretty well, though naturally it doesn’t happen as quickly as I’d like it to. Yoga is pretty cool. Hard, but fun. Master’s put some incentives on the table to keep me motivated. Silly, trivial things but things I wouldn’t otherwise ask for.

…American Idol:

Sucks this year. So far. That makes me sad. But The Biggest Loser is awesome! And Bad Girls Club. Jes got me hooked on it and it is. so. stupid! I can’t stop watching though. It’s the best trainwreck EVAR.

…Showers:

I’m going, I’m going.

Tengo Hambre.

So Friday was M’s birthday party… Saturday we went to another play party and that was lots of fun.

I was really ready for some pain, longing for it. For the push and the struggle.

He strung me up:

There was some pain. He worked out his new misery stick and, you know, it hurt and all.

But it didn’t even come close to pushing.

It’s difficult when other people are around. That’s not to say it isn’t enjoyable, or that we don’t like having people around. That’s not it.

It’s just different.

He’s holding back. Hell, I’m holding back. But mostly he is.

There’s a reluctance to let go. I don’t know if he’s just not able to do that in the presence of others or if he maybe has some worries of being judged as too harsh…. or what the reason is.

The last time that we really played the way we used to play… was longer ago than I can really remember.

Before we moved here.

We completely eliminated the opportunity to indulge in that when we moved here. It’s temporary- if you can consider a few years to be temporary.

Someday, the kids will move on and move out. Until then though? We do this. This.. half-assed play that barely scratches the surface of what we need.

Well, what I need anyway. I don’t know if he aches for it like I have been. I’m inclined to think he does because there seems to be an itch within him that needs scratching.

Kids are fucking exhausting. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Doesn’t matter how old they are, unless they are old enough to be on their own.

Bah. I hadn’t meant to turn this into a rant about kids.

I was more lamenting my hunger. Hunger that the weekends two opportunities for play only teased into a higher need. It was a morsel, and I’m starving over here.

There is no blame to assign. It is what it is.

In so many ways our lives have improved tenfold with this move. In one way, one big way, we went backwards.

Because it’s not just not having the pain or not having the privacy and opportunity to indulge in kink.

It’s who we are and the places we go when we have that as a regular part of us.

That’s what I miss.

That place.

Meh. I should go pop a Prozac and stfu.

~cunt