Reader’s Note: This is Joanne Swift’s journal, adapted for reading, detailing the events around October 8th (Saturday) 2016.
I’m not used to describing my love-making with my husband in graphic detail. In the interest of telling a proper story, I’ve been asked to do so anyway.
My husband normally fucks me very roughly, gagging me with his dick in my mouth—and I’ve learned to take all of him. He loves the squicking sound his cock makes as it hits my vocal chords and I start to gag.
I practice daily with latex dildos with suction cups. I have thin, realistic veined ones; massive black cocks; pink ones; shiny ones – Master and I have quite a collection locked up in our closet. They all have names so that Master can text me from work to assign an exercise to me. Today I had the pleasure of “Angus”, the 9-inch black cock with real hanging balls. I was instructed to press against a mirror and take all of him down my throat. The exercise is great for suppressing my gag reflex, but the reality of a hard, throbbing cock, and his grabbing my hair and yanking me around while slapping my ass and choking me, is something I’m never prepared for.
The adrenalin kicks in and something primal inside me turns my screws to full orgasm. I suppose it’s a leftover response from the old caveman days, when the man dominated the woman and she learned to beat his furs against a rock by the river to clean them and pick berries for him while he went out hunting.
Tom requires the butt-plug because my asshole is naturally very tight. I’m allowed to lube up in the morning, and right before bed, and any time I finish in the bathroom after I wipe myself. Those are the only times I take it out, unless he gives me permission or wants to use my ass himself. He uses my ass a lot – the plug not only helps me accommodate a much larger dick, but it builds up my sphincter muscles so I can grip his cock with it like I can my pussy. I work up and down on it, pulsing and constricting my anus so that he can cum. It takes him a long time to orgasm, but when he does – he’s finished with me and falls asleep immediately.
I don’t mind, though – he usually lets me play with my pussy to finish myself off after he gets his nut.
When my daughter left, he let me take out the plug, remove the cuffs and heels, and washed me down in the bathtub while we listened to soft Gaelic music. I love the classical Irish and Scottish music of the Highlands. It’s so serene and sexy.
I needed something to calm me after the panic attack I’d had when my daughter discovered us practicing BDSM. I didn’t even want to think about it. Tom kept my wine glass filled until the end of the hot bath; enough so that, while I couldn’t forget, I could at least pretend it had been a horrible dream.
I wondered what the fallout would be, and Tom reassured me that whatever will be – will be. “Sometimes you just have to accept that things will never go back to how they used to be.” He smiled down at me while I bathed naked in our luxurious tub, with the lights dimmed real low as candles flickered around me.
“You don’t think they’ll go back to how they used to be with Taylor?” I gulped.
“She’ll never ride a tricycle, or skin her knee and want you to kiss her boo-boos.” Tom explained that now that she knew, there was no going back to how things were, either. “She has the attention span of a gnat most of the time. You saw the look on her face when I told her about Dave Vulgus. There are two possibilities: she either didn’t realize how important this night was to him, or she didn’t care. I know our daughter can be a heartless bitch at times – but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that she really just didn’t realize why she was asked to babysit.
“We need to call him tomorrow and apologize. I don’t want to start out in this neighborhood with everyone hating us and thinking we’re bad parents for raising irresponsible kids again.” I tried to hide the panic in my voice.
Tom knows me too well and is the shade tree to my sunshine. He said he’d handle it and not to worry about it. I loved that he could handle things like this and that I could trust him to do it. I considered myself very lucky and never forgot how many women wished they had a man like Tom.
“Our daughter should apologize…” Tom washed my face gently and then kissed my cheek, “…but that isn’t likely to happen.”
“Do you think she’s going to ask about what happened tonight again? Tell anyone?” My anxiety was showing in my face, and Tom told me that we’d cross that bridge when and IF it happened.
Tonight – I was his.
When I was clean I got out and stood up. He dried me off with a soft, fluffy towel. I reached for the silver chain “day collar” I wear. It’s really just a heavy chain necklace with the word “Pet” on one side and “Joanne” on the other that he bought for our anniversary one year.
“May I lube up my asshole tonight before bed, Master?” I called Tom ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ in private, always. He was very clear that it put me in the proper head-space to accept his authority. “You can’t be on a familiar first-name basis when you are serving.” He felt very strongly about that.
I would have considered him the boss whether I called him Tom or Sir, but it was what he wanted, and I wouldn’t argue. He also expected me to call men Sir and women Ma’am if we went to area munches or BDSM events. That had been very rarely, and things have been so hectic since we moved here that we hadn’t even searched for a local group to hook up with.
Munches aren’t sex parties – not the ones we’re used to. They’re typically held someplace public like a Denny’s or a library. The people tend to look a little odd for one reason or another. Usually the women are very bookish and quite heavy, and a lot of men with silver hair and beards.
They deeply frown on fetish-wear in public, but almost every submissive wears a ‘day collar’ that can pass for a necklace or a choker, but is a symbol of their obedience and a sign to other Masters that they belong to someone there.
These affairs are usually quite boring and we don’t enjoy the political infighting – it’s one reason we stopped going. The lectures were usually things Tom already knew about knots or fetishes we don’t engage in, so they stopped being of value. Usually, the ‘in crowd’ clique of regulars will have an after-party where they go to someone’s house to engage in actual BDSM and sexual escapades.
We almost never went to those, either!
I have to admit I was curious and I would have gone if Tom wanted me to do it. However, Tom wasn’t as inclined to share me, and I wasn’t going to suggest it. Even though I’m quite satisfied with my husband, I had fantasies about gang-bangs and being forced to suck off all these cocks. He knew about them – but I’d assured him they were just dirty fantasies from reading too many naughty stories online.
I knew of people in the munch community who lived things out in the open and were far more extreme than we ever dared to think about. The things we did tonight would be considered very tame by their standards. They’d go to strip clubs, seedy motels, swingers’ parties, and adult theaters.
Cherry Lawn Estates would go bonkers if anyone like that lived here! I doubted they even had places like that. I’d been told that on the poor side of town that there was a slightly seedy underside to Cherry Lawn Estates, but I was sure it wouldn’t be anything like some of what I’d seen in the big cities.
Tom told me not to worry about lube tonight. I thought he meant to be extremely rough, but instead he held me naked in his strong arms and pressed me close.
He led me to the bedroom and lay me down flat on my back and then gently and sweetly made love to me. We hadn’t done it this way in so long I wasn’t sure what was happening. I kept waiting for him to pull my hair and choke me out, throw me off the bed and slap my ass; but instead he massaged and held me tightly until he came.
He rolled over and fell asleep right after – leaving my pussy wet and dripping and craving a release of my own. I wasn’t angry or frustrated – I knew teasing and keeping me on the edge was part of my training, and I accepted it. I fell asleep with my head on his muscular chest and awoke bright and early the next morning.
“Did you wash out your cunt, you cum-slut?” Tom and I had an understanding that he’d talk as nasty and vulgar to me as he felt like in the bedroom, and I’d accept it. He insisted I refer to my pussy as a ‘cunt’ when talking to him. He had an entire logic about making me speak about my body in the most debased terms to put me in the mindset of his cum-slut, but I just think he liked to hear me say it.
“No Master, I fell asleep, I’m sorry! I didn’t wash out my dirty cunt.” I apologized for my mistake. He didn’t like cum to go to waste. I knew I was in for a punishment – but those were usually fun.
“It was my fault.” Tom readily admitted when he was wrong—another of his admirable qualities. “I should’ve told you what to do. The room started to spin and I felt like I was floating after I came, and I just fell asleep,” he apologized.
He told me to shave and not to wash it out; get my asshole lubed and plugged; and then report to him for a morning affirmation. That’s where he spanks me and goes over the instructions for the day, and asks me questions about if I mind this treatment and what I’m learning from it. He’s done this from the very beginning and it seems like a formality, but it’s a ritual to us. I am a creature of habit, and I love the idea of a routine like that.
Tom informed me that today he’d be golfing with some friends and that I should clean up the house, make lunch, and then get some shopping done before he gets home at 4pm. If I’d really wanted to complain, or had a concern, he’d allow me to say it; but our relationship was based on trust and him as head of household. He was not asking my permission the way other men had to with their wives, and I secretly liked that fact for many reasons – chief among them, it made me seem like a better wife than his friends had. I wanted Tom to feel that way about our marriage, and I knew he did.
I thanked him for the instruction and the extra snuggling last night with a kiss. I went about my day after he lit up my ass with a spanking designed to remind me that last night’s soft and gentle love-making was the exception and not the rule. I didn’t complain at all – but I did hide my smile as he laid into my behind.
I put on my apron and went about my Saturday as I had many times. I checked on the kids to make sure they were all accounted-for and safe; and I won’t bore you with the mundane details of making sure Janie’s friend’s mother brought her home, or what kind of dish soap I used.
I will skip ahead to later in the afternoon when Taylor finally woke up and wandered into the kitchen to see me. It was a moment I had dreaded but, given what she saw of me the night before, somewhat expected. I tried not to text my husband too often during the day and let him enjoy his afternoon, but he’d suggested that if she says anything to just nod along.
He had texted back, “Take all the fun out of it for her. If you just nod with whatever sarcastic joke she says then she’ll lose interest. If she sees that she can push your buttons, then you’ll encourage her. I should be home at 4pm and, if you like, I can talk to her again now that things have cooled down.”
I took a deep breath and hoped that this would be brief and painless. “Good morning, Taylor – that’s a nice shirt. I didn’t know you were into Star Wars?” I might not have commented about the Star Wars shirt she had on unless I wanted to preemptively keep the subject away from what she saw me do last night.
“Thanks.” Taylor took an apple and crisply took a bite, “I’m totally NOT into Star Wars – this is a Kanji shirt,” she said, as if that meant something to me. The words next to the Star Wars design were clearly something Asian, so I nodded my head as if I understood the reference.
There was a long pregnant pause of awkward silence as we both stood there waiting for someone to say something.
I instantly regretted breaking the silence, but the first thing that came to my mind was to ask if she’d apologize to Mr. Vulgus for not showing up yesterday. I didn’t want to bring up the elephant in the room and discuss what she saw last night, but I did really want Taylor to make things right with the neighbor.
“No,” Taylor answered without a second thought.
“Why not?” I couldn’t understand what the harm would be in at least saying she was sorry – even if she really wasn’t.
“Sounds boring.” Taylor looked completely disinterested as she took another bite of her apple. It’s hard to tell when she’s interested in something, because she usually looks disinterested most of the time anyway.
I thought better of continuing to nag her and returned to cooking lunch. “I’m making hot dogs and pork and beans. Will you be joining us for lunch?” I asked. I was thankful to have dodged questions about last night and ready to just move on with things as if it had never happened.
“Does he beat you when you’re naughty?” So much for wishful thinking. With one question my daughter had just reopened the entire panicked feeling I had previously, except now I was equally mortified one of the other kids would walk in and hear her calmly discussing my sex life with her. I stood stone-cold with a chill running up and down my spine.
“Taylor, please!” I started to hush her, but she was grinning as she teased me and told me she was genuinely curious.
“You always told us if we wanted to know something – just ask.” She was being facetious. I had said that to her many times, but I hadn’t meant about MY sex life.
“If you must know…” I whispered in hushed tones that none of this was abuse and that I actually enjoyed it. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing this with you, though. There are some things you’re not meant to know, and this is one of them.”
She kept prodding me to answer her question. She was pressing my buttons and trying to get a rise out of me. I was trying to be patient and not let her have her fun at my expense. In a way, I kind of expected her to do this, but in another I kind of wished she wouldn’t.
“Do you want me to get on the internet and find out? Google-search to have my burning questions answered because you’re too ashamed to talk about it with me?” Taylor’s mock guilt-trip was clear sarcasm. It was really difficult to tell if she was being sarcastic or not, though, because that’s the only way she spoke.
“If this is something you want to know more about, you can discuss it with your father and me at a more appropriate time.” I gave her the benefit of the doubt and left the door open for legitimate questions. Tom would have to do the heavy lifting, because I was deeply red in the face – much more so than I thought I would be.
I could actually respect and understand anyone who was curious about BDSM, especially after seeing someone practice it. I had seen movies like ‘9 ½ Weeks’ and ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ that piqued my interest when I was younger, and that’s what prompted me to experiment with it. Most people know about ‘9 ½ Weeks’ and think of it as a love story, but ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ was not at all about a consenting relationship.
The woman was fertile, and had tried to escape the New America, in a world where most women were not. She was sentenced to bear the children of someone she didn’t love – I don’t know what about that intrigued me, but her conditioning at the hands of Aunt Lydia had left me with a longing for submission.
I wished I had someone who was knowledgeable about it at my age then to discuss it with me. I had actually spoken at length about various topics regarding submission in presentations at my local munch gatherings; but I was finding myself not only tongue-tied around my daughter, but deeply embarrassed and even resentful to be asked about it.
That was probably compounded by the fact she had an impish, mischievous grin on her face as she caused me to trip over my words.
“Do
you get off on it? Do you love it? Why do you do it? How do you
decide who’s in charge and who isn’t?” Her
questions went unanswered as I dodged each one without really
answering. I hated when people did that, and a lot of the training
Tom had given me was to be direct and explicit in my responses to
him. I found all of that impossible at the moment because I was being
overwhelmed.
I told Taylor in a whisper that BDSM has long
been maligned by people who don’t understand it as something
dirty, and it has a sordid reputation. “Your father can answer
these questions if you really want the answers, but I can’t
have this conversation with the possibility the kids will walk in at
any time.”
“Oh?” Taylor raised her eyebrows as if I had just said the magic words, “You want to take precautions because you’re afraid your kids will walk in and HEAR about your kinky bondage games?”
“Okay, Taylor, enough.” I changed the subject and asked if she’d walk the dog before lunch. “I know it’s not your turn, but do you mind walking Sandor while I set the table?”
“Yes, I mind.” My daughter announced that it would never again be her turn to do any chores. She clearly felt she had the upper hand on our dirty little secrets and was going to play the blackmail card. She was being more than her usual self-righteous, overly dramatic self, but I had long since grown used to her talking back to me on numerous occasions.
I would never have thought about being this forward in talking to my parents – and a part of me wanted to take her some place private and have a long sit-down discussion, now that the cards were on the table. I have to admit that while I was angry that she was trying to use what she saw to get over on me, I was also being a coward and just wanted to avoid the confrontation, and that’s my fault.
“Taylor.” I looked disappointedly at her. “I love you so much, and I expect better of you. I hope you aren’t implying that you’ll tell the others about what you saw if you don’t get special treatment?” In the back of my mind I fully expected her to try something like this. She’d mentioned the night before that she felt like she had just won the lottery. I told her that her brothers and sister don’t need to know about this.
I waited apprehensively to see if she would at least acknowledge my point.
“I agree.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when Taylor agreed with me, until she added that wouldn’t happen as long as I agreed to her simple requests.
Hindsight is 20/20 – I probably should have left the door open for us to talk about it or invited her to step out of the house and talk to me woman-to-woman. My discomfort about the discussion prompted me to take another approach.
“Fine.” I told her she wouldn’t have to walk the dog. It wasn’t her turn anyway, and I needed to stall until Tom was home to set her straight. I could give in now, and he could play “bad cop” when he gets back and set her straight.
“Oh, I have another question,” Taylor asked, as if turning to leave once our business was concluded. “What was that in your ass last night?” My daughter described the diamond crystal circle squarely planted between my butt cheeks. I was sick to my stomach that she even saw it, much less was able to describe perfectly how it set between my cheeks.
“That was nunya,” I joked, and waited for her to ask what nunya meant so that I could say “business”. I often used humor as a way to lighten the mood or redirect the conversation, and I was hoping that right now the tactic would work.
“It IS my business.” Taylor was clearly too old to fall for that old trick. “Do you have it in now?” she smiled excitedly. She grabbed my apron and spun me around – I grabbed the back of my ass and held my hands over it to shoo her away.
“Stop! You’ll pull it open,” I warned my daughter that I was being serious. I’ve never laid a hand on her in my life, and I’ve always found alternative ways to discipline my kids. I’ve told you that that has a lot to do with my own upbringing and the fact we sexualized some of that discipline in our love-life.
At that moment, though, I told Taylor she wasn’t too old for me to put over my knee. I’d heard my mother and father say that to me well after I graduated high school, and I can’t believe I repeated what they had said to me.
Taylor stood back and looked at me as if I couldn’t be serious. “I dare you to do it.” Taylor shook her head. “No, I double-dog-dare you to spank me.” She even presented her ass to me.
My daughter is almost physically full grown and has a well-padded ass in tight black denim jeans. I’m sure she would have turned more than a few heads at one of our munch activities if she’d asked for a spanking like a bratty “SAM”. That’s our word for “smart-aleck masochists.” I don’t fall into that category, but we’ve met quite a few women who weren’t submissive at all—they just liked to get a paddling every now and then.
I liked to think that they found peace in the spankings, that they had their ‘bitch buttons’ reset whether they knew it or not – the pain absolved them of their sins as an act of contrition and they felt more polite and considerate afterwards. Then, after a time, their acting-out was actually a subconscious cry for more of the discipline that centered them the way it did me.
I had been a hot mess when Tom and I first started dating. I was a single mother and recently divorced. I was lazy with no career direction. I slept in when I could, used every excuse to procrastinate instead of cleaning house. I had an endless stream of dates with all kinds of losers – but Tom was very different.
I still can’t believe he thought I might be marriage material after he met me. He laid down boundaries and gave me structure – and I evolved into the woman I was always meant to be. It took a lot of paddling and pain for me to change my ways, but I was always thankful I let him.
I had initially just thought bondage was a sex game and something deviant men did to get out their aggression on women. I’m sure from meeting a few people at munches that it’s exactly that to them. My husband used it to enhance our marriage and interlaced teachings he learned in the military and abroad into our relationship.
The smart-aleck masochists, though, I think never learned that lesson. To them this was just a bondage game and a fun way to have rough sex.
“I’m not going to spank you, Taylor!” I told her to put away her ass.
“That’s what I thought.” Taylor smugly turned around and declared herself winner of that exchange, and rightly so – I had stood down. “So are you going to show me that thing? What’s it called?”
“It’s called a butt-plug,” I said, and Taylor giggled so loud, while I said that, that I couldn’t help but smile myself.
“A what?” she grinned.
“You heard me,” I whispered, and told her that there are other names for it, but that’s what we called it.
“Why do you wear it?” she asked curiously.
I really didn’t want to tell her what I’d tell Tom when he asks me the same question. I reminded her that her brothers and sister were home, and she could ask Tom and me later tonight.
“Are you ashamed of it then?” Taylor was really pressing the issue, and I hated the way she phrased that. She was goading me to answer her question, and I knew she wouldn’t leave it be until she had some kind of answer.
“I’m not ashamed.” My whisper may have indicated otherwise, but I clarified that I was very proud of my relationship with Tom. “I just don’t broadcast what I do to everyone. This is private between Tom and me.” I was pleading with her to leave it be. I think any normal, mature person may have done so with an answer like that.
Taylor is a teenager, and neither normal nor mature. She still farts at the dinner table and thinks no one knows it’s her, for crying out loud.
“Take it out and let me see it.” Taylor grinned again, and when I told her no she started giggling and chasing me around the kitchen. I couldn’t help but fan her hands away from my heiney as I ran away from her.
We both started laughing and getting playful and at that moment the kitchen door opened.
We both stopped red-faced and stared at the door.