After the cats, I'm the dominant one in the house.
Early in our marriage, my husband was timid about initiating sex. He said it came down to not knowing if I was ready at any given moment.
I tried to help him out by telling him I was ALWAYS ready and that he could have me any time he wanted. That didn't really help. He was still shy.
I tried letting him know I was DTF by doing subtle things like going commando in a short nightgown, or more overt things like bending over with my butt-plug in.
At that time, he could take or leave anal, whereas I had been into anal for a long time thanks to a bottom-dwelling boyfriend in college. I can have anal-only orgasms and they leave me near catatonic. But, I digress.
He still wasn't getting it. His inability to just grab me and go led to arguments. Arguments led to fights. Fights led to me accepting that I would always be the one to start the ball rolling.
I woke up needing it bad. I decided to meet him at the door naked when he got home. I wore a plug all day. When I got home from work, I prepped, re-plugged, and waited.
He came home in a foul mood, dirty, tired, and hungry. He flopped down on our new-ish couch, which would normally piss me off, but this bitch was in heat and I let it go. The more I tried, the more he got frustrated. We fought the same fight we had been for months.
I was raging. I shouldn't have been. I get stupid and nasty when I'm angry. I called him a word I shouldn't have. He got quiet and retreated to the bathroom to shower.
I ugly cried, naked, curled up on the couch with a heavy silver plug peeking out of my ass. He came back only a few seconds later. I looked up to apologize and he rushed me.
He was already hard. I saw a flash of purple in his hand -- a bottle of astroglide. I tried to roll on my back but he crossed the distance and rolled me face down again. He pressed my head down and pulled my feet off the couch so I was bent over with my face almost buried between the cushions. He was breathing hard but otherwise silent.
I tried to grab his hands but he pinned me down by the back of my neck. I couldn't move my legs. He had them clamped between his. He smelled like soil and the clean sweat of hard work. I turned my head to the side to breathe and he pressed me back down by my cheek. He had sand and grime under his nails. His calloused hand covered my eyes.
His other hand removed my plug with no pretense of gentleness, squirted lube between my cheeks. He went balls-deep and split me in half.
I screamed and squirmed but I couldn't do anything. He was so incredibly strong. I fought. He fucked. My shoulder hurt from him bending my arm behind my back. My neck hurt from fighting against his hand, but it was like a thousand-pound weight on my face. I tried to roll my head the other way, but he grabbed my hair and slammed my face down again.
There was nothing to do but take it. I wasn't used to that at all. I ride him. I take charge. I fuck him. Usually. But he had had enough of that.
My screams turned to moans punctuated only by the sound of his labored breathing and the sucking sound of his cock ramming my asshole.
I came twice before he finally filled my ass. He stood up and went back to the bathroom to shower, leaving me in a bruised, mascara-running, cum-leaking heap on the floor. Never said a fucking word.
My ass was sore for days. My neck was stiff for a week. I remember every detail. I picture it when we fuck now.
He's still not the dominant one all the time but when he is, I have the icy-hot ready.
Early in our marriage, my husband was timid about initiating sex. He said it came down to not knowing if I was ready at any given moment.
I tried to help him out by telling him I was ALWAYS ready and that he could have me any time he wanted. That didn't really help. He was still shy.
I tried letting him know I was DTF by doing subtle things like going commando in a short nightgown, or more overt things like bending over with my butt-plug in.
At that time, he could take or leave anal, whereas I had been into anal for a long time thanks to a bottom-dwelling boyfriend in college. I can have anal-only orgasms and they leave me near catatonic. But, I digress.
He still wasn't getting it. His inability to just grab me and go led to arguments. Arguments led to fights. Fights led to me accepting that I would always be the one to start the ball rolling.
I woke up needing it bad. I decided to meet him at the door naked when he got home. I wore a plug all day. When I got home from work, I prepped, re-plugged, and waited.
He came home in a foul mood, dirty, tired, and hungry. He flopped down on our new-ish couch, which would normally piss me off, but this bitch was in heat and I let it go. The more I tried, the more he got frustrated. We fought the same fight we had been for months.
I was raging. I shouldn't have been. I get stupid and nasty when I'm angry. I called him a word I shouldn't have. He got quiet and retreated to the bathroom to shower.
I ugly cried, naked, curled up on the couch with a heavy silver plug peeking out of my ass. He came back only a few seconds later. I looked up to apologize and he rushed me.
He was already hard. I saw a flash of purple in his hand -- a bottle of astroglide. I tried to roll on my back but he crossed the distance and rolled me face down again. He pressed my head down and pulled my feet off the couch so I was bent over with my face almost buried between the cushions. He was breathing hard but otherwise silent.
I tried to grab his hands but he pinned me down by the back of my neck. I couldn't move my legs. He had them clamped between his. He smelled like soil and the clean sweat of hard work. I turned my head to the side to breathe and he pressed me back down by my cheek. He had sand and grime under his nails. His calloused hand covered my eyes.
His other hand removed my plug with no pretense of gentleness, squirted lube between my cheeks. He went balls-deep and split me in half.
I screamed and squirmed but I couldn't do anything. He was so incredibly strong. I fought. He fucked. My shoulder hurt from him bending my arm behind my back. My neck hurt from fighting against his hand, but it was like a thousand-pound weight on my face. I tried to roll my head the other way, but he grabbed my hair and slammed my face down again.
There was nothing to do but take it. I wasn't used to that at all. I ride him. I take charge. I fuck him. Usually. But he had had enough of that.
My screams turned to moans punctuated only by the sound of his labored breathing and the sucking sound of his cock ramming my asshole.
I came twice before he finally filled my ass. He stood up and went back to the bathroom to shower, leaving me in a bruised, mascara-running, cum-leaking heap on the floor. Never said a fucking word.
My ass was sore for days. My neck was stiff for a week. I remember every detail. I picture it when we fuck now.
He's still not the dominant one all the time but when he is, I have the icy-hot ready.
