https://mrsfever.wordpress.com https://mrsfever.wordpress.com https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/fcab2a0bccc48f6f1113aa64363190f2?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs2.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.png https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/30/etre-eveille/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/30/etre-eveille/
I come awake with a start – frozen in place, throat tight, heart pounding a rapid tattoo in my chest – to the roar of frustrated winds blustering against the night. I am cold. Disoriented. The t-shirt I wear is twisted around my torso. My sheets are skewed, my pillows tossed, my legs tangled in a heap of sheets. I observe these details as though through a shroud; it takes me a moment… and then another… to realize, with gasping inhalation, that I have forgotten to breathe.
And then I remember.
In accelerated pants, I remember.
Snippets of dreamscape scenes, of flashbacks, of fears real and imagined come together in reconstructed shattered-glass reality, and I roll, seeking solace in his embrace.
And it is. It will be.
I am. With him, I am.
But that was then.
He is not here, now.
I close my eyes and count, slowing my breathing by gradual degrees, imagining his hands, remembering his touch, soothing against my skin.
Always gentle, even in their demands.
My heart quickens once again in my chest at the memory of those demands, and my newly-calm breathing becomes ragged once again as my fingers trace the same paths along my skin that his so recently took.
Kicking aside my covers, body attuned to the storm outside, my skin warms by degrees to my own touch as I seek to silence the storm within.
Slumber will have to wait.
For now, I am…
This is not a night for sleeping.Fri, 30 Oct 2015 17:22:42 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/30/etre-eveille/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/27/cum-for-me/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/27/cum-for-me/
I am liquid slick, boiled down under the flame of your fingers. Molten, steamy. Slow burn reduction, simmering under your touch. I am raw senses and quivering heat, pinprick pleasure and delicious, dripping ache. On fire for you.
I feel the grip of your fingertips on my hips, pulling me back against your swollen cock, thick with need for me, and with desire for you thick in my throat, I oblige the demand of your hands with wiggling hips, backing onto your hard by inches, til finally I am… a l m o s t… There.
:: breathe ::
And with a deep inhale and a tilt of my coccix, I arch my back briefly before pressing my belly down and my ass back, taking you to the hilt.
There is no space left between us; not even a light could get through, and I’m hanging by a thread here in this moment. You press into me with a primal groan, the head of your cock kissing my widening cervix, and I am lost…
To demanding strokes and fist-clenched sheets, to trembling thighs and shushing caresses, to the sweat, to the softness of the T-shirt I wear (your shirt) gently abraiding my hardening nipples. To the rough tenderness of the now. To you, to Us, I am lost.
I speak in tongues.
I call out to God.
I call out to fuck.
And with lightning trailing flames from my womb to my ever-swelling clit, I swirl my fingers in circular demand – harder, faster, again, more – until the lava in my veins centers on my sex and the only word I know is your name. Your name… I say your name, over and over and over again, and again, as my pussy tightens and I bear down against the pleasure-pain I’m drowning in, pushing you out, pulling you in, stretched full, unable to take anymore, unwilling to not.
You are insistent. My resistance only serves to reinforce your arousal, and when the head of your cock drags once more against my swollen tissues, I start to shake, no longer able to keep my orgasm at bay.
I am walking a razor-sharp edge, and your words…
Cum for me
…tumble me past the precipice.
Cum for me.
Your voice is primordial, echoing through my most atavistic core.
Cum for me.
Lights explode behind my eyes, and with shivering limbs turned liquid with desire, I form your name once again against my lips…
Cum for me
…and with a scream into my pillow, I do.
And again, right now, alone with the memory of you…
Once more, I do.Tue, 27 Oct 2015 12:56:33 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/27/cum-for-me/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/25/au-reveil/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/25/au-reveil/
The afternoon sun reaches through the windowpane, light-soaked rays stroking their fingertips over my sleep-warmed skin, caressing me through my quilted cocoon, coaxing me slowly awake.
It takes me a while, I think to myself, as I hear his approaching movements against the background sounds of domestic hums; fluffing towels turn in the dryer while floorboards creak under softly padding feet. He kneels beside me where I lay, melted chocolate eyes level with my groggy gaze, and his welcoming smile pulls me out of my drowsy depths.
It takes me a while.
The thought repeats as I complete my climb to consciousness, holding his cheek against my palm and tracing my thumb over his sinner’s lips.
Sometimes, it takes me a while.
To come awake.
To come to realizations.
To come forward.
“I love you,” he says with audible surety, and I smile inwardly with remembrance, knowing how long he waited to hear those words, in return, from me.
As my eyes meet his, I wonder fleetingly to myself, Am I sorry for the wait?
Even knowing the answer is “No.”
(I had to know.)
It takes me a while.Sun, 25 Oct 2015 10:15:22 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/25/au-reveil/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/22/bete-noire/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/22/bete-noire/
Limbs twined, my cheek to his chest, I inhale his skin between slowing heartbeats, kittening under his hand stroking my hair and nestling into the strength of his ember-warm embrace. My lashes flutter in a latent echo of endorphin trembles, and, stroking my fingertips over his torso, I ask…
What are you afraid of?
…even as I think to myself:
This.Fri, 23 Oct 2015 05:14:32 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/22/bete-noire/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/14/welcome-to-vagina/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/14/welcome-to-vagina/
No, not Virginia.
The state that is its own state flower.
So: Welcome to Vagina! I’ll be your tour guide. And before you ask: NO, there will be no free rides through the Tunnel of Love today. Also: I hope you brought your raincoats.
Every now and then I get befuddling questions about What Women Want and I am sort of at a loss as to how to answer these inquiries, because no two women are the same (say it with me, now: NO TWO WOMEN ARE THE SAME!), so unless I am the woman in question, I can’t particularly help much in the How To Please A Woman department.
What I *can* do, however, is give you a little insight into How To Please ME (me, Me, ME!), which will be
abundantly useful not the slightest bit helpful, but may be entertaining nonetheless.
First and foremost, let us examine what my vagina IS NOT, mmmmmkay?
My vagina is NOT:
- an apple: do not give in to temptation; bites will get you kicked
- a baseball game: foul balls will not be tolerated
- a cavern: put your spelunking gear away
- a construction site: kindly quit your jackhammering
- a chalkboard: scratching your nails down it is going to result in cringing… and in bodily injury ~ YOURS
- a hockey puck: slapping at it with your stick will not get you to your goal
Oh, and also: My vagina is not even remotely like the insides-falling-out snatches you see in porn. Not. Even. Remotely.
Actually, while we’re on the subject: Just forget everything you’ve seen in porn. Women do not just start Unh-unh-unh-unh!-ing when you thrust your unshaven face onto her snatch and start scratching her all to hell with your bristles. Nor do women have orgasms from penetration alone after 37 seconds of pounding, with no foreplay or lube. (Clitoral stimulation is pretty much mandatory, and if you don’t know what that means, read this book.)
And LUBE. Jayzus God, don’t get me started.
Perhaps I do have a thing or two I can tell you about How To Please A Woman. (Or, at the very least, How To Not Piss Her Off.)
Here’s a universal tip: WET against WET slides and glides, people! At the very least, wet your fingers with saliva (hers, yours, another player’s, doesn’t matter) before you go poking and prodding.
Ever belly flop down a Slip ‘n Slide that hasn’t been wetted down? Doesn’t matter how sweaty you are, that little bit o’ moisture doesn’t get you very far before you’re sticking and gripping and grinding to a halt. So use some common sense, eh.
But f’reals: LUBE.
Getting back to my vagina…
If I say, “Get the lube” (or any other variant, such as “Get the fucking lube already!” or “Lube it or lose it!”), GET THE FUCKING LUBE. Do not argue, do not say, “But you’re so wet!” Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Just shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.
Seriously: Women’s bodies vary in both the quantity and consistency of the natural lubrication they produce. Wetness alone is not proof that she is “ready” and lack of wetness does not indicate that she’s not. It’s important for women to know their own bodies, and its important for partners to listen when she vocalizes her needs. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten…creamier(?)…for lack of a better word, and I’ve found that friction (a la penetration via toys, fingers, or other body parts) does not increase the ‘flow’ (so to speak), which means things can get real uncomfortable real fast. I highly recommend trying various kinds of lube, and to go back to re-try brands that didn’t work the first time around after a few years have passed. Besides the fact that manufacturers are constantly “improving” their formulas, and therefore negating the results of previous sexperiments… I suspect other women with reproductive health issues have already figured this out, but hormones that are regulated and/or artificially introduced to the system have different effects on the body at age 25 than they do at age 40. The only thing you can do is keep trying.
:: deep breath ::
Holy elongated paragraph, Batman! (No, that was not a euphemism.)
That said: I love me some Astroglide. (I wrote a story about my potential lube commercial once, here. And no, I’m not getting paid to advertise for them. Dammit.)
Also, many sex shops sell lube in individual packets on the cheap. They’re great for travel, and perfect for trying something new without spending a fortune. Pick up a few and see how they work for you before buying a bottle.
Uhmmm… Where was I?
Oh yes! The state of Vagina.
The vaginal opening expands and elongates with arousal, but the tissues can also swell during/post orgasm. The rush of blood to the area can make a woman hypersensitive and things like air temperature and endorphin rushes have various effects as well, and not always in predictable ways. So what feels good during foreplay may not work during intercourse, and what feels amazing during intercourse may feel horrible the instant she cums. This is one of the reasons I despise the pounding/jackhammering mentality. It can feel good, yes. But typically it only feels good during a very specific time period and for a limited duration. Otherwise: OUCH! (If you’re into pain, that’s another game entirely.)
Simply put: Pay attention to her responses and alter your actions accordingly.
Oh! And fingers? Totally different than cocks. Generally speaking… Gentle curving motions (one finger) or scissoring (two fingers) or swirling (three or more) is going to be much more pleasurable than thrusting in and out. Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.
I could write a whole post about oral sex. (And perhaps I will! But not today.) But the list of Do-Nots would take at least 739 words, and this post is already long enough as it is.
Let’s get to a few “do’s” now, shall we?
- DO take your time. Explore. Listen to her feedback, verbally and physically.
- DO relax. It’s not a race. It’s about pleasure, not pressure. Don’t hurry her.
- DO keep your nails trim, your face smooth (or your beard soft, if you have one).
- DO stay.right.there when she tells you to; changing it up when she is clearly stating she doesn’t want you to is going to throw her off, and frankly, that sucks.
- DO be persistent. Practice makes perfect.
- DO enjoy the scenery. Vagina is the most beautiful state in the nation!
Sooo… I’m sure I left a gazillion things out, but that ends today’s tour. If you are interested in future bookings, or would like to sign up for our next class, Advanced Basics: How Not To Fuck Up While You’re Fucking, please register at the head (heh) desk.
Ladies (or non-ladies ~ I’m an equal opportunity tour guide), feel free to add your thoughts below.
Also, I have no clue how to tag this post. Suggestions are welcome.
HENJOY!Thu, 15 Oct 2015 03:58:36 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/14/welcome-to-vagina/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/12/food-of-love/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/12/food-of-love/
He crawls on shaking limbs to arrange himself alongside me, trembling from the force of his release. I can feel his heartbeat thudding through his ribcage, the thrum of it echoing in the veins of his arm draped over me, and I soothe the staccato rapidity with half-note hums and quarter note breaths, stroking my fingers over his skin and through his hair, softly inviting him back down to earth.
I can see the moment he stops floating on feeling and starts descending into thought. It has been a long time coming, this coming home; living together matters not where absence is concerned, and his presence – here, in this moment – is palpable.
I observe the change in his countenance with curiosity, knowing he is sifting, settling. I know him well: There will be an outpouring, a stream-of-consciousness processing that wells from places deep within, and I am content to wait for it. But for all that I know him, I also know that we are venturing into new territory, and his actions now – and going forward – are weighted with a new kind of promise. And I am curious…
His eyes are glazed but from their fascinated daze I can tell that he has tumbled on to something that is holding his attention. And so I ask, invoking his name, what is going through his head.
He smiles beatifically, his face lghting with dawning joy, and he responds…
And they say romance is dead.
😛Mon, 12 Oct 2015 15:37:34 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/12/food-of-love/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/08/hours-before-dawn/ https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/08/hours-before-dawn/
Blue-black visions swim against my eyelids as I swim to consciousness, fingertips dipping beneath my waistband in somnambulent insistence, trailing fire against sensitive flesh, seeking sweet relief. I am slick. Hot. Swollen. My fevered skin aches, the barest air bruising me with its caress, my nipples prickling at the assault, begging for your mouth. I take one, tenderly tugging between thumb and forefinger, allowing the ethereal shapes in my mind to take solid form while my fingers dance inside my tight heat.
I am wet.
Hot. Ohhhhh… So hot.
Burn with me.
I swirl circles over my clit, feeling the slippery liquid dripping from deep inside, and as I ride the edge I center all my energy on the one thought that will push me over:
To (for) me.
You’re coming for me, baby.
(SOON. So soon.)
You are coming.
And I am cumming…
(NOW… Right now… R i g h t… NOW.)
…for you.Thu, 08 Oct 2015 10:50:19 +0000 Mrs Fever en https://mrsfever.wordpress.com/2015/10/08/hours-before-dawn/
Source: The Suburban Domme