I get a little pampered.

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The other night he kissed my mouth with soft and pliant strokes, a special occasion. He ran his hands over my body and slid down between my legs and gently chewed on my black lace panties.

I moaned and squirmed. He held my knees together as he quickly pulled my underwear off, then pinned my knees apart.

He dove back down and carefully avoided sucking on me, but tenderly gripped my clit with his lips instead. I leapt and squealed. It was way too much. “Oh, sweetie,” he crooned, “I’m so sorry!! No lips even??”

“No,” I answered, “nothing but lapping.”

I’m ultra sensitive — how I’ve longed to be like other women who can be sucked and nibbled upon with gusto, but not me! Treat me like a scoop of ice cream, please.

He tucked back into me and pressed his warm, flat tongue against me again and again. He sneaked a couple of fingers into me until I begged him to slip inside of me. His real appendage, not his skinny little digits.

He rose up and pushed into me and buried his scruffy face in my neck. I clung to him and thought about how much I loved him with each slow, exquisite thrust.

It hurt, he was enormous. Bigger than usual.

He took care to go slowly and he kept a close eye on my temperament. When I began to lose coherency he swung my legs over his shoulders and watched me quietly cry.

“Ok, ok, ok,” I panted. “Go!!”

And like a dog sent to attack he buried himself to the hilt inside of me at a breakneck tempo.

My pussy gushed, her gurgles embarrassingly loud to my ears, and orgasms bloomed and burst and fizzed through me.

He slowed and reached for my wand and lay next to me. I burst into tears as the emotion of being split open by him for the 10,000th time so obviousky loved, but still in secret, made me raw and vulnerable.

He nudged my hand holding the Hitachi and I choked on a sob. “I don’t think I can handle this,” I said.

He convinced me to try.

Two more orgasms later we firmed up plans for La Maison du Voisin (House of The Neighbor). He kissed me sweetly goodnight and I went to bring Peyton into bed with me.

Today, still warm and fuzzy from our last encounter, we made more plans. “Check-in” is at 3, apparently, and I will be massaged, possibly pedicured. I will be fucked, loved on, and cooked for. At 7, we head to Jason’s house for a housewarming party (check the Lovers tab for who he is). Then back to La Maison du Voisin for what, I don’t know.

This morning, I did a 5k with Peyton and I’m currently soaking in a bath washing off the filth. The Neighbor, so thoughtful and kind, brought me a glass of wine to start off our night. I’m also watching Top Chef Masters. I’m fairly certain I’m in an alternate universe.

Because in my world, I don’t have a man, a boyfriend, who takes care of me.

I don’t have anyone who thinks about what I like or goes out of his way to make me feel special. It’s true I have someone who’ll fuck me sideways till Tuesday and who’ll wipe my tears as we drive to a funeral, but a random, romantic night just because I deserve it?? Noooo, I so don’t have that.

Except, I guess I do, because I have him.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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32 thoughts on “I get a little pampered.
      1. I’m always lurking about somewhere. After all this time from then until now It makes me happy to see the changes I have seen in you. The bravery you have exhibited in getting to where you are now, how you have taken your boob shots into something as great as boob day. Being a witness to your pain and joy all this time has been a privilege. Drivel is not a word I would use to describe you or what you share.

        My happiness be yours my dear tonight and forever.

          1. I have been told that I have a talent for seeing past the window dressing and finding what’s hiding under the carpet. Or at least when it comes to staring down squirmy girls. :) .
            To balance the starkness that often accompanies truth you have to learn when to speak or hold your breath and just smile. I long expected a little happiness would find its way into your relationship with TN I have just been holding my breath and smiling.

            XXX’s.

          1. Vulnerability is just one aspect of honesty, one mistakenly viewed as weak. It takes bravery to be vulnerable, honesty is what determines the flavor of your outcome.
            The trick is to keep the pieces small enough you don’t choke him.

  1. I am really trying these days to stop defining my relationships with people and just enjoy them. Or cross them off the list. It’s not really my nature to act this way but maybe I can change my nature. I loved this post and I am happy for you…my fave is your comment though, “You get no where if you don’t attempt vulnerability.” These words shall ring in my ears all day!

    Bisous My Hy,
    Dawn

  2. I always appreciate watching you work things out in your head (on your blog). Even if you don’t come to a the best of conclusions the process puts a lot of questions and answers into my own head. Which is good.

    Also, being that you’re like an ice cream cone, what flavor are you?

      1. You certainly can be. Not your fault the term ruined the flavor… I happen to like vanilla or vanilla bean quite a bit, but that wouldn’t really say much about who I am. Were I vanilla flavored. Creamy, sweet, familiar, goes good with many combination of decadent desserts. I never get tired of vanilla.

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