Why can’t I speak? I’m a grown woman talking to my husband. perfectly capable of coherent speech and rarely embarrassed by filthy words, I like words. So where are mine?
“What are you going to do? Say it.” he asks again.
I gawp at him, open mouthed, the words ringing perfectly clearly in my head,
“I’m going to put in my butt plug and masturbate for you, exactly as you told me to.”
His words, repeated back.
The connection from my brain to my mouth has been interrupted. Severed by the power of his stare, so intense. I twist myself around, desperate to break his gaze; remove myself from this line of vision. If I can just wriggle out of his eye-line I’ll get my power back and find my voice.
Of course that doesn’t happen. as his grip on my wrists tightens and I’m dragged back to face him. Locked in eye contact, locked in a battle of wills. I feel like his prey, like he’s eyeing up a good meal, savouring the presentation before devouring.
I know I have to answer him. I begin to stammer. “I’m going to….going to…”
Am I embarrassed? It was me that had got my plug out and casually left it on the side. It’s one of my favourite toys, the cold metal, the feeling of fullness, the firmness inside me that resists even the tiniest of clenches making me writhe in pleasure.
It was my idea, so why was I ashamed?
Could it have been his response to my subtle suggestion? My ‘man of few words’ had suddenly found his voice. Reading my responses he was taking advantage of the power in his words. He’d gently mocked me “What’s that on the side, did you get out toys? You kinky girl” Unf. Hearing him speak, calling me names however inoffensive, was so fucking hot, and he knew it.
We’d been wrapped in each other, laid back on the bed, all passionate kissing and naked grinding when he’d suddenly given instructions. A stream of words from him where there were usually none. He’d told me I would be inserting the plug and would be touching myself whilst he watched. Firm clear instructions without a hint of his former playfulness. Then he’d sat back, casual as hell, taking a sip of his beer, leaving me small and vulnerable on the bed, squirming under his scrutiny.
This wasn’t going as planned. My horn tonight had been for playful loving sex, kissing and giggles. So why was my pussy responding to this shift in power?
Why was the idea of doing something I’d done numerous times before so much hotter because he’d told me to?
Why was using words to describe how I would do it suddenly so challenging?
The words I needed to say cycled in my mind with a backing track of my own frustration. Loving him for knowing this would turn me on so much, cursing him for making me doing it anyway. Turning me into a contradiction.
Both wanting to live in this moment forever and desperately wanting it to be over.
How does he always know me better than I know myself?
I spurt out the desired words “I’m going to put in my butt plug and masturbate for you” my voice is unrecognisable, all breathless and quiet.
My blushing is accompanied by a smile, I did it.
Fuck. He’s sat back all cool, studying me as I find the nerve to speak up, again.
“I’m going to put in my butt plug and masturbate for you, I’m a good girl.” Stronger this time with the tiniest of wags at my achievement. My bare bottom wiggling back and forth.
“Yes you are, good girl” his praise comes as an instruction without a hint of a smile. Wow, he’s getting really fucking good at this. His words working their magic on my body as I am flushed with arousal. He’s revelling in their effect.
“I’m a good girl” the words are coming freely now but still as powerful, each one notching up the vibrations inside me. I’m aware my cheeks are flaming, the heat in my face as fierce at the heat between my legs, sopping wet, wanting him.
I found my words, so elusive under his intense focus.
I’m so glad he has found his too.
Keep using them, make me squirm, make me wet, make me a good girl following your instructions. Use your words, unlock their power, make me lose mine.