The Secret Confessions of a Horny House Wife

This last sexual encounter with No-Nickname Mike was one of the best I’ve ever had in my life.  We spent an entire day together in a hotel room.  It was so good that I masturbate regularly to the memory of it.  

Masturbating.  I’ve been doing that a lot.  Here is my favorite new fantasy:

I walk into a hotel room and immediately get down on my knees and open my mouth.  (This is really what I do when I see Mike.  It’s what he’s trained me to do.)  I’m waiting there on my knees on the floor and I notice that there is another man there in the room. 

No-Nickname Mike was raised in another country, so his native language is not English. Mike and his friend are having a conversation in that other language.  They might be talking about me, or they might not. 

Mike approaches me, speaking in this other language to his friend.  Now he’s looking at me and talking to me, but I can’t understand what he is saying. He gently cradles my cheek in his palm and then slaps my face hard.  (He really does do this a lot.  I love it and I’m getting wet just remembering it.) 

Usually in my fantasy other sexual training ensues.  There is sucking and fucking and (of course) more slapping, but what turns me on the most is the idea of being used by these two men who don’t even bother to speak in a language I can understand.  And in my fantasy, Mike and his friend are telling me to do things and I am trying to understand what they want, but I can’t quite interpret their intonations and facial expressions enought to follow their orders.  So, of course, they have to punish me. 

There is something painfully arousing about being put in a situation where I could never possibly follow my master’s orders well enough.  Something about already having lost the game before I even step out onto the field that makes me dripping wet.  I’m sure it has something to do with my mother.  (…and, whoever had been beating off to this post just stopped.  See, Constance?  And I don’t care.)

I tried something new with Mike this last time.  He would give me an order, like “Turn over onto your stomach.” 

I would look at him defiantly and ask, “What if I don’t?” 

Of course, he would force me.  He would either physically force me to do what he was telling me to, or he would hurt me in some way until I complied.  That was hot, but here is the best part about it: the next time he gave me an order, I followed it immediately, not because I was choosing to be a good slave, but because I knew he would hurt me if I didn’t.  It made everything all day even hotter.  I would occasionally ignore or defy his orders, he would have to teach me a lesson, and both of our roles became clearer and sexier. 

♥♥♥ 

I want to write a post about everything that happened to me that day Constance and I had our tiff.  (See comments for this post) But it’s a lot to process and there’s a lot I want to say about it, so I’m going to wait just a little longer.  I wanted to make myself write this post because I don’t want to get caught up in that trap where I start to think that everything I write here needs to be really profound or interesting or clever.  I need to just keep writing and not have impossible expectations for myself. 

Isn’t it interesting that impossible expectations are what I want in bed from my master, but they are also what kept me from writing for fifteen years?  Is it possible that the demons in our life are our most powerful turn-ons? 

Blogo-friends, what is your greatest personal demon?  Does it turn you on in bed? 

♥♥♥

And finally, Constance, thank you for your friendship.  You are important to me and I’m glad you are in my life. 

♥, HH