Thursday, January 30, 2014

Please Force Me

Let me start with this:
I love giving Husband blowjobs.
His cock tastes divine, and while I wouldn't say it's a perfect fit for my mouth (oh God no way), I would say it's an unperfect fit in all the right ways. It's smooth. It's warm. It glides down my throat just so. It's great for sucking. It's great for just just about anything I'm in the mood for...but blowjobs are particularly nice.
I'm good at giving blowjobs. At least, Husband says so--and he's the only one who has to judge. I can deep throat him without problem; I can hold him down in my throat for long lengths of time with no problem. I can suck, lick, and pump my jaws, all at the same time. I am talented.
(One of those many talents I will never be able to openly market...but I digress.)
What it boils down to is I enjoy giving blowjobs, I'm good at it, and they make me happy.

Now here's the second thing:
I sabotage my own happiness; like, all the fucking time.
I have a feeling a lot of women do this; we just don't really open up about it. If there's something I know I should be doing, something that's good for me, something that will make me happy in the short or long term...I still try to convince myself not to do it. I don't know why. It's like a little voice inside my head says "O! This will end well! Best not do it!" And then I go on with doing something else.

So there are often times when I want to give Husband a blowjob, I know I'll enjoy it and obviously (oh how obviously) he will enjoy it, but for some reason, I won't offer to give him one, and I won't ask him if he wants one. The latter statement is more rhetorical (obviously he wants one, he wants one all the time) but it's polite to ask first before yanking a guy's pants down and start sucking on his cock. I think this falls under the heading of "common courtesy"; or maybe, in a D/s relationship, under "asking permission."

The other day I could tell these conflicting emotions were getting the better of me, so to nip it in the bud, I called Husband on his way home.
"Make me give you a blowjob tonight," I said.
"No problem!" He replied.

After all the kids had gone to bed (can I just say here, thank God for school-night bedtimes?), he came looking for me, and found me on the couch, watching television.
"Give me my blowjob," he said, staring down at me.
"Gah, I'm too tired," I said without looking away from the T.V.
"I don't care," he replied. "Give me my blowjob."
"I don't feel like it."
Giving me a penetrating look that would have pierced through lead, he turned off the television, grabbed my hand, and pulled. "Give me a blowjob," he said.
"No," I replied.
For a moment, we stared at each other. Then Husband reached into my lap, slipped his hand into the front of my pants, got a good grip on my panties...and pulled.
I jacked up off the couch, howling. My panties were now stretched taut inside my pussy, and pulling on my most sensitive parts.
It was the evil frontal wedgie.
Husband began to walk me upstairs, pulling on my panties like a leash. I could only keep up with his steps, walking on my tiptoes the whole while and whining as we went.
"When I say give me a blowjob," he growled as we walked, "I mean get up, stop whatever you're doing, get upstairs, and give me a fucking blowjob." We reached the bedroom, and he half flung me against the couch. Before I could regain my balance, he pushed me down by the shoulders and shoved me to the floor.
In one swift moment, he had his pants down and his hand behind my head, digging into my hair. He pulled my head into his crotch, and I had no choice but to take his cock in my mouth.
"There you go," he said. "Now get to work."
Of course, now that I was well positioned on the floor, his cock in my mouth, I automatically got down to work. Like I said, I take pride in my blowjobs. Once he got my over the initial struggle of fighting my own inclination, my own wants, I was fine. I gave that man a mighty fine blowjob to thank him for his troubles, and by the time he came, he had to collapse onto the nearby chair just to catch his breath.

And then it was time for one of those weird conversations you probably only hear in D/s households.
"Thank you for making me give you a blowjob, Husband," I said.
"No problem. You feel better?"
"Oh, yes."
"I didn't pull your hair too hard, did I?"
"No, I'm okay. Thanks for asking."
"I just want to make sure it wasn't too know, for next time."
"Next time?"
"Next time I think you need to feel better again. You were down before, but now you're smiling. You always seem to smile more after I do this. I'll probably force you to give me a blowjob every night for the rest of the week. How does that sound?"
"You're so good to me."

I have no idea what kind of pillow talk goes on in vanilla households. I imagine, though, it's very different from ours.

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