Porn for each other

That summer of anal love was also our most intense time of porn-watching. In EXPLORATIONS I mention the Eastern European spanking videos, but they were just the tip of the iceberg. If it had "anal" in the title, we watched it. If it had "school" in the title, we watched it. Among other things, we decided we would identify a canon of porn (being good lit majors) and watch all of it. I don't know how much older porn you've watched, reader, but it's really pretty remarkable how much porn has changed over the years. Boogie Nights only covers the broadest aspect of this change. The Mitchell Brothers stuff retains some of its hotness, to be sure, but the attempts to make things like The Devil in Miss Jones and Behind the Green Door profound are really kind of embarrassing in the modern context. . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.

Summer of mythic anal love

Charles kicked his own roommate out, more or less (guys deal with that more sanely than girls, I think [there's no way I could have done it to my roommate], but despite the transaction being relatively businesslike I have to admit to feeling rather stimulated by the urgency with which my betrothed lord went about making sure I would be in his bed every night, to the point of really being a bit unfeeling for the displaced roommate--yet another paradox of hotness, I guess, for he clearly felt it, too: when the door closed behind the roommate and the roommate's stuff, Charles turned me around, my face to the door, lifted my skirt, lowered my panties, and entered me, hard, so that I cried out in a way that the roommate must have recognized), and I moved in with him. 

I ended up as a summer associate in New York, which put a small crimp in what we later called our summer of anal love, but, because the firms want you to give them your heart and soul after you graduate, it wasn't too much of a burden in the end (heh).  . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.

A BDSM couple hors de combat

So, as I intimate in Emily's First Caning, we had a very frustrating period for several weeks after that. Even when our respective apartment-mates were out (the things we wanted to do to one another were loud enough that shutting the door just wasn't sufficient), the moment Charles got hard he opened up the sore on his cock, and while for the first few days, before we started worrying about infection, he didn't object to me going down on him, the pleasure being so much greater than the pain, which I did more than once a day over the course of three or four days, sometimes in very questionable locations (the library twice, I think), which was gratifying for both of us in its way (I was in a constant state of frustration because of my own bladder infection), we finally decided that we had to refrain from anything that would even arouse us.

So we were like an old married couple through, I think, all of March and most of April. I nearly managed to get caught up on my reading, at least. And Charles had time to buy me an engagement ring. . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.

Betrothal coda

It was about then (it couldn't have been later than 10pm, I think, since our "night of nights" had started around 5, before the sun had even gone down if I recall correctly) that we fell asleep. Before I drifted off, I enjoined on Charles something that I haven't yet found a way to get into EXPLORATIONS--that he fuck me awake, if he woke up first. Even if I woke up first myself, my plan was to lie there pretending to be asleep until he did wake up and ravish me out of sleep. That probably would have been much better, but Charles has always been an early riser.

I wanted, you see, to feel that magical, pure constellation of desire behind so many ravishment fantasies: "He loves me, wants me, so much that he doesn't care whether I'm awake or not, ready or not, aroused or not." It was my birthday, too, so it felt like it would be just the right way to wake up with my new master. . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.

Post-coital colloquy: of sexual expression

"OK," replied Charles. "We fucking did what?"

I grew serious, and fixed his gaze with mine. "How many girls have you fucked before me?"

He looked steadily back. "Three."

"Was it ever like that?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because. . . I couldn't. . ." He didn't want to continue, because he clearly didn't know how to put it right. He hadn't thought as philosophically about the matter as I had, to that point at least. I think it's easier for a sub, sometimes; we don't instinctively pull back from our own cravings quite as quickly as dominants do. . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.

The first afterglow: of wedding-nights and BDSM

If the spanking and doggy-style sex were intense, the suite of oral-anal-A2M was shattering; I really felt like I was left in pieces, lying there in my first real bondage (of course I'd played around by myself with towels and things, but it's not, obviously, a solo activity) with Charles' come all over my face, and this look in his eyes begging for forgiveness for having wanted to do to me what I'd demanded he do to me. He released my hands, and wiped my face.

I, for my part, was laughing, nearly hysterically. My laughter eventually infected Charles, and we were both helpless with it for a while.

"I. . . kind of know," he choked out, "why we're laughing" (gasp) "but I'm not sure?"

The laughter finally subsided. He lay down next to me on the bed, and I, as I always have and I hope always will, clung to him, and buried my face in his tastefully-hirsute chest (not too much, not too little). (He does have back-hair, unfortunately, but a girl can't have everything.) I kissed it (his chest, that is), for a while, just because I loved him, and I knew it. He waited patiently for an answer.  . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.

The Waldorf, anally

We walked from Grand Central to the Waldorf. I felt like I wasn't walking but rather floating on a cloud of arousal, even though we couldn't really hold hands very much because we were both pulling roller suitcases full of our secrets. (As is mythologized especially in Emily's Dark Gift and Emily's Little Trainer notable contents of mine included my butt-plug and a stash of porn not because I felt like I was going to need to play with myself but because I had in mind precisely the scene you find in Emily's Dark Gift, where I get what I deserve for bringing porn on my "honeymoon." Also, of course, a lot of lingerie, in particular my absolute favorite white lace thong, featured in EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5, and the blue pajamas featured in Emily's First Caning.)

It was the first time I'd ever checked into a hotel with a man, and that was fun all by itself, if you enjoy full body blushes. It was at that moment, as I was checking in, with Charles a discreet distance behind me in the lobby, that I heard one of my Mom's best friends say "Charles Smith! What the heck are you doing here?" I left the second key at the desk, with instructions to deliver it to Charles, and fled to the room. . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.