I made him say, “I’m sorry.”

photo 1
He says he loves underboob.

Friday night I wasn’t feeling well.  I’d spent the whole week mildly harassed by a sore throat and then put out of commission entirely by a pounding head and leaking face.  I found myself child-free and mostly symptom free Friday afternoon so I texted The Neighbor.

“I’m down for your semen somewhere in my body tonight.”

His response was Old TN: “Not sure if I’m up for it tonight, but probably.”

I sniffed in indignation and headed home, my bed suddenly sounding like the most wonderful thing since sliced bread.  My phone chimed again, though. “Just kidding!!  Of course I want to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you!!!”

I ignored it and kept driving.

Home, I had some work to do and was on the phone with a business associate when I heard a knock.  With the phone to my ear I opened the door.  It was him.

I waved him in and sat down at the computer.  He followed me and thrust his groin forward.  Momentarily distracted by his proximity, I turned my head and was face to face with his enormous bulge.  Quickly, I wrapped up my business call and hung up.

“I really want to fuck you.  Now,” he said.

He took my hands and pulled me up and I quietly followed him into my room filled with late afternoon light.  He shoved me down on the bed and slipped out of his clothes and helped me peel out of mine all the while talking about how much he’d been thinking of me all day and how badly he wanted to bury himself into me.

I felt like I’d found a $20 bill on the sidewalk and wrapped my arms around his warm muscles and happily pulled him down to me.  He railed into me and my body wept around him.  I let him use me and flip me around like a doll.  Pounding and sliding and slipping and smacking.  He shoved my face into the mattress and scratched my back as he rode my bottom like a filly.

He pulled on my hair and I was rendered soundless as my neck stretched taut, curved like a swan’s.  I writhed and twisted back on him and knew my eye makeup was smeared into grotesque black eyes.  I’d been sucker punched by sex.

Finally, we lay and rested.  My limbs trembled and he pulled me into him.  We canoodled and whispered and laughed.  He began to shift and fidget after a time.

“You’re about to leave, aren’t you?” I didn’t want him to go so early.  I had hopes for an evening of sex, cuddles, soup and Bull Durham.

“Yeah, is that ok?”

“No, not yet,” and I told him what I wanted.  He began to protest and I shushed him.  “It’s what I want to have happen.  I’m not saying you have to do it.  Go ahead and go,” I said releasing him.  We gathered our clothes and I returned to the living room and walked him out.  He said he might come back later.  Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore.  My body had given its best for the day and I felt fatigued and empty, sick yet again.

I ordered Chinese food and put on Law and Order: SVU, the best show man ever made, and put on my pajamas.  A fluttery knuckle knocked an hour later and I gorged myself on crab rangoons and sweet and sour shrimp and lay reposing like a bloated whale while Benson and Amoro sought to free some single mother from wrongful imprisonment.


I looked at my phone.  It was TN.

“I want to cum on your face right now,” was all it said.

I sighed.

Motherfucking A.

My fingers itched, my pussy pulsed and my head responded with a boom of its own.

I texted back a classic TN response of my own:  “In the middle of something right now.  Can you wait 45 minutes?”

I got a long stream of sad faces for my efforts.

“Ok,” I capitulated.  “Come and convince me.”

No sooner had I hit send and he was on my couch beside me, raging erection resplendent beneath his basketball shorts.  If he came on my face, would he leave immediately after??  I wasn’t so sure I was up for that.  It was Friday night and neither of us had anything else going on and I wasn’t feeling all that hot.  I felt on the verge of a fit, but held it together with safety pins.

He began to touch me.  My breasts, my neck, massage my curves.  And words tumbled out I wasn’t expecting.  He was seducing me.  Ok, Chinese food belly, I thought, goodbye to you!

I closed my eyes and let him raise the temperature.  Soon, he was inside of me and I was tossing pillows aside.  His gaze was hot and lurid over me and I felt him come close to losing his shit a time or two, but then he stopped, pulled out and disappeared into the entry way.

“What are you doing?” I called.  “Are you leaving?!

He came back around with his pants back on.  “Yeah.”

I flew into a frenzy.  “What the fuck, TN??” I yelled searching for my pants and righting my shirt.  “You’re just going to come over here, work me up and then disappear??”

He looked genuinely confused and he raced over to console me.  I flung his hand off of me and turned away disgusted.  “Do you think you can just jerk me around like that?!?”

“‘Jerk you around’??  What do you mean??  How did I jerk you around?”

I sighed as I sat back down and motioned for him to join me.  I explained how I wasn’t feeling well, how I had asked for more time before he came over and that I resented feeling like a live doll.  “I didn’t think you’d wait for me to cum and I really want to be a part of that.  You’ve been so good all week!”

He admitted he’d have likely broken his promise to me and jerked off without me had I not allowed him to come over.  “That isn’t ok, TN.  We made a deal.  I need to be able to trust you to keep your word.”

He looked away.  “How can I make this ok?  How can I fix this??  I want to fix this!” there was a hint of panic in his voice behind the sincerity.

“I don’t know… I just feel so used.”

“But you’ve said multiple times that you want me to come over for a nooner.  How is that different?”

“It’s different because you have to go back to work!  What are you going back to right now??  Some internet thing?  I’d even be ok with you coming over at 8:20 to say you had to leave at 8:30 to meet friends for dinner.  That’s hot, but this??  Not hot.  You don’t just come over here, fuck me, then leave me.”

“So, what if I had to go to the grocery store later?  Hot or not.”


“If I’m bored?”

“Not hot.”

“Ok, I think I get it.” He moved around behind me and  began massaging my shoulders.  I felt ridiculous and silly.  Adolescently exposed and embarrassed.  Like I’d been caught with my pants down, too damn vulnerable.

“And I’m sorry, too.  I just don’t feel 100%.  I’m run down and I just couldn’t deal with that right then.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

We hugged and he left.  Later he texted to say he had a peace-offering for me that wasn’t his penis.  It was another box of Topo Chico for me.  He’d noticed I was out again.  This was the third box he’d bought me this month.  I thanked him and told him it wasn’t necessary, but he said he felt he needed to do it anyway.


photo 2

Sunday evening while Peyton watched a cartoon I surreptitiously snapped a pic of my breast while I lay on the couch and sent it to TN with a note about how I’d made my list for tonight.  Several hours later, with Peyton in bed, I realized I had never heard back.

Irritated, I texted him.  “Did you get my earlier text and pic?”

“I did.”

Then, nothing.

I felt much better physically, basically recovered from the ambush of exhaustion and irritability that I’d suffered Friday night, but now I just felt over this thing between us.  It hit me swiftly.  The vulnerability I feel entering this D/s thing is mighty and to think he was ignoring me deliberately — well, my first reaction was to shut down, but I squirreled down on it further and didn’t allow myself my knee-jerk response.

Finally I asked if everything was ok.

“No, it’s not,” was his terse reply.

Immediately, I panicked.  Holy shit, he’s found the blog, he knows everything.  He hates me, he’ll never want anything to do with me.  I took a deep breath and steadied my hand.  “What’s going on?” I asked, all nonchalant while my belly dropped and I saw my life with him flash before my eyes.

Imagine my surprise when I read the following words:

I can’t get a fucking stain off the toilet bowl no matter how hard I try.

Wait.  What??

I shook my head and took deep breaths, my brow furrowed into a little thundercloud as my brain strained to make sense of what I was reading.  Instead of working it out for myself, I texted that I was about to jump in the shower and he could explain himself when I was out.  He called immediately, his voice tense.

“What’s going on?  Are you kidding?” I asked.

“No.  I’m really upset.  I can’t get the toilet clean.”

I remained silent.  I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond.  His assignment was to have the bathroom cleaned by that night, yes, but what did he expect from me??  What did he think I expected?  Perfection?  And what did he want me to do to him if he couldn’t achieve perfection?  My goal was for it to be more clean than the average bathroom, but a stain is a stain.  By their nature, they can’t be removed.

I still couldn’t speak, Cruel’s words floated by, “Knowing why someone is being difficult is even harder to learn but well worth the effort to learn given the insight it brings.”  I felt stumped.

He chattered on frustratedly about how he’d tried multiple cleaners all afternoon and evening long to no avail.  Finally, I asked him what he thought I’d do to him if he wasn’t pristine.  He said he didn’t know.  We agreed that I’d stop by before midnight to check on his progress as planned.

I showered and digested his words, his energy.  What, exactly, does this young man want and need from me?  What, exactly, is my job here??

I toweled off and put on my Niners shirt and some soft pj pants and padded next door.  He was in the bathtub, knees splayed.  The scent of bleach hung in the air.

His bathroom was pristine.  New hand towels hung on counter top dowels, the chrome fixtures glistened and there wasn’t one streak-mark on the mirror.  The rugs were clean, clean linens were neatly hung on towel bars and the linen cabinet housed freshly folded towels.  The reading material was gone and the paper on the roller holder.  He had a candle lit.  It was a job beautifully done.

“Well done, TN,” I said folding my arms under my breasts.  “Very, very good job.”  I sat down on the closed toilet and continued to look around.  He’d cleaned the base boards.  I nodded my approval and told him what a good boy he was.  I inspected the base of the toilet.  The side closest to the bathtub was covered in dust.

“Uh oh.  You missed a spot.”  I looked at him and he cringed, his shoulders pinched in.

“Fuck,” he said.  “I cleaned the other side.”  And sure enough, the other side was spotless.

“I’ll have to take that into account.”

We chatted some more as he stood up, water dripping off his muscled limbs.  I handed him a fluffy white towel and told him what would happen the next night.  “You are to greet me on your knees, hands behind your back, wearing a pair of my panties.  Be in front of the fireplace.  And your ass needs to be ready, too.”

He giggled.

“What are you giggling at?  Do you have a problem with that?” I leveled a gaze at him and he looked away.  “Do you?”

“No, ma’am,” he said sheepishly looking at me.  I kept strong eye contact with him throughout my directions and watched him flinch and react with surprise to my words.

“Are you ok with this?” I asked curious about his behavior.

“Yes.  Very.  I’m excited and a little nervous, is all.”

He moved towards me with the towel at his hips, but I put my hand up to stop him.  “No.  You did well tonight, but you also need to be punished.” I watched him closely as I said the words and his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.  “I am not happy with you.  You ignored my texts earlier today and that is not acceptable.  Do you understand?  Particularly when I’m talking about a list of punishments and rewards.  You should have said, ‘Thank you ma’am for planning our pleasure.'”

He stammered.

“So, I will reward you by letting you touch my boobs tonight, but I will not touch you.  Put your clothes on and come with me next door.”

He obeyed quickly and we walked next door and straight to my room.  I locked the door behind us and calmly walked to the bed and sat down.

He massaged my breasts with his mouth and hands, buried his face in my cleavage and gasped for breath like he was coming up for air.  I lay on my back on my bed staring at the still fan blades wondering  what we looked like to the casual observer: big bosomed woman with a man attached to her, seemingly endlessly.  It’s a comforting thought that he thinks that my tits are, as he says, magnificent.

We talked some about my dream the previous night and he asked for me to demonstrate.  I flipped on to my belly and had him lay across my legs.  He pushed his erection into the cleft of my pj pants.  He was hard.

I wanted to keep my word and my punishment real so I switched gears.  “Why don’t you pick out a pair of panties to wear tomorrow night?”

He went to my underwear drawer and started digging around.  He settled on the white satin pair with teal crushed velvet and lace bows.  “More support,” he said with a smile as he tucked his meat in and sauntered over to where my head lay near the edge of the bed.

He asked if his punishment also meant that he couldn’t cause me to touch him.  I sat there contemplating my answer as he stroked himself and I watched him grow under the crosshatch pattern of black on the satiny white.

“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” I said, mesmerized.  “You were very, very naughty.”  I looked up at him and he smiled down at me.

“I’m very sorry,” he demurred.  I gave him my hand and he swiveled his hips against my palm as he pressed it against his bulge.  It felt alive to my hand, like the warm back of a horse under saddle.  He slid the panties down over his hips and he sprung free into my face.

I closed my eyes as his hand caused mine to grip his and move what little foreskin he has left up and over the engorged shaft.  Soon, the little vertical slit glistened with a dew drop of precum.  He made me squeeze the head and it rolled down under the split of the head.

I took my hand from him and with the pad of my index finger I trailed the bead and let it rest in the cleft of the helmet.  The rest of him quivered as I held his erection with one tip of my finger.

“I want very much to touch you now,” I admitted, “but I’m not convinced that you are truly sorry, that you understand how very wrong you were.”

I looked up at him meaningfully and parted my lips.  With sudden understanding he said, “I’m sorry, ma’am.  So very, very sorry.”  I leaned in and captured his head with my lips.  His voice still hung in the air, but he was no longer talking.  I waited.

“Sorry.  I’m sorry,” he started again and I fell down lower on his shaft.  Each time he stopped apologizing and professing his stupidity, I stopped my mouth and my hands.  He laughed and moaned and searched for new and novel ways to grovel.  I soared and my body buzzed with a deep, down heat.

He pulled away and came around me, pulled my ankles and flipped me onto my back.  I let him remove my pants and he parted my knees.  “I’m still not going to touch you,” I said.

“But I said I’m sorry!”

“I don’t care.  You don’t get to have me until you’re forgiven.”

“Am I forgiven?” he whispered, pressing close to me, his cock sliding over the curls of my mound.

“Apologize again,” I said looking into his icy blue eyes.

He took a deep breath and said, “Hy, I am so very, very sorry.  Please forgive me.

I let the moment hang between us, reveling in the words and the power and whispered, “You’re forgiven.”

As my tongue hit the roof of my mouth to make the “en” he rammed into me and held.  “Very forgiven,” I added breathlessly.

We moved together, slowly as in my dream, for many minutes.  He nibbled and kissed my neck and I pulled and gripped on his cock with all my might with each long, slow, deep stroke.  The lights were on, but I saw only creamy navy skies and sparkles behind my lids.

He sat up and held my ankles together and rocked into me.  “God, I love fucking you,” he managed to say.  I flung my head from side to side, aching everywhere, hot and itchy and searching and feeling lovely.

“I want to see you cum,” he said pulling out of me.  The Hitachi and its Gonzo attachment had me arched and exploding in less than two minutes and I lay smiling under him, tired and ready for him to leave.  It was 1:20 in the morning.

I squeezed his hand as he left my room and I took a dose of NyQuil smiling at the vast difference a year makes.  A year ago, I was being spanked and yanked around, literally and figuratively, and today I am being offered apologies like freshly baked cookies.  Warm, and delicious.

I’m not sorry at all.

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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24 thoughts on “I made him say, “I’m sorry.”
  1. You’ve been nominated! (Because you’re awesome!)


    The Fabulous Gutter Blogger Rules of Acceptance:

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    Link back to their blog in your post.
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  2. While I’ve seen the videos, I don’t quite understand the coming on someone’s face thing. It mixes me up with feelings of humor and revulsion and turns me on and off at the same time, all depending on the look in her eyes. But, then again, if the right woman masturbated in my face, I’m certain I wouldn’t complain. I’d be thrilled, actually, to be as close as possible to that explosion of feeling.
    As usual, I suppose it all depends on the parties involved and whether it is a degrading act or one of binding attraction.
    Um, so, ok, maybe I do understand it. I’m sure you do too, but maybe someone else will read this and think, Oh yeah, that makes sense.
    Watch your eyes : )
    Underboobs are awesome!

      1. I don’t watch porn porn so much as study it, and then proceed to not be able to help but get off on some of it, and much prefer “amateurs”. My biggest hang-up there is that, I would guess, the vast majority of the female parties involved don’t know they’re on the internet. The whole coming on somebody’s face thing though just seems kind of silly, or something that makes a man feel like he’s in control of someone. I know I couldn’t do it without laughing my ass off and then apologizing or something. I wonder if TN has similar taste in porn as I do… Is he a smart guy? A deep thinker? In touch with his emotions at all? I wonder what he thinks he gets out of it? Honestly, the whole sub/dom thing is foreign to me, and if I went one way over the other than I would bathe in a woman’s juices, but if I were you I wouldn’t be afraid to set him straight on not letting him shoot on your face just because he wants to. Somewhere inside, he wants to love and be loved equally, regardless of whether he is capable yet. Some people never get there, some are there and settle for less for fear of loneliness, and want of acceptance, and every day I realize again and again that is mostly men who fuck these things up. Argh. I have on my mind a traumatizing expression of extreme dominance someone displayed upon somebody very close to me when I was young, so maybe I’m just a little perturbed by even these less significant ones. But still, if you get capitalized ‘nothing’ out of it, tell him to come on your tits then.
        Well, that’s my two cents for the day…

  3. ‘I can’t get a fucking stain off the toilet bowl no matter how hard I try.’
    Wow yes, what a great surprise! Definitely wasn’t expecting that!
    Yes this new development does seem so right. And pretty exciting!

  4. Wow, my head’s dizzy after reading that whole piece. Forgive me for just responding to the underboob pic earlier. I couldn’t help myslef :) Now that I’ve read the whole post though, Jeez, I’ve got to read some back-story or something in order to keep up.

    1. Yeah, it was a long one :-/

      Backstory is basically the whole blog, but I do my best to boil it down on the About, Sex Posts, and Men pages. Haha. God, I’m likely failing at making it easy for readers to catch up, but it’s not for lack of trying!

      1. Don’t go to any special effort to help latecomers like me catch up. I know how to read prior posts. People might have the same issues with mine.

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