There are some things you just don’t do.
Like get between a girl and her blog.
So this evening I was responding to a round of 25 questions from Nate (Where were you born? In a hospital…), and as I was writing my Nobel-prize worthy response, my husband somehow managed to jostle the the PC modem, so when I hit ‘send’ (or ‘post’ or whatever that magical button is called that sucks my prolific verbosity into cyberspace), my computer said, “So sorry. Your 1,247-word essay will not be published. Better luck next time.”
Do you think this made me happy?
Ask me if this made me happy.
This did not make me happy!
Do you know what you just did?
No. What were you working on?
I was blogging.
I just lost like a gazillion words.
(eyes downcast now) I’m sorry.
You will be.
Did I mention I bought new cuffs last month?
Consider it mentioned.
Get on your knees.
You are going to apologize…
…With your tongue.
These cuffs are nice, people. They’re red microsuede with lock tight velcro adjustments and shiny (oooooh, SHINY!) silver metal interlocking chain. And they look very, very sexy around my husband’s wrists. I will be buying an additional pair for his ankles. And some additional chain. In case…you know…you were wondering…
So there he was…
On his knees…
With his tongue.
While his hands were cuffed behind his back.
For about thirty minutes.
When I recovered from my ohyesyes, right there right there, don’t you dare fucking stop! orgasm, I helped him stand, briefly uncuffed him, and instructed him to lay on his back in the center of the bed with his arms above his head.
I cuffed him to the headboard. (We have oak mission style bedroom furniture. Huzzah!)
So with The Mister cuffed to the headboard, I placed some pillows under his hips to give myself easier access to (do deliciously naughty things to) his cock.
After he was suitably arranged, I got my vibrator out, and arranged it against him in such a way that he was experiencing the sweet buzzing bliss of erotic torture as the throbbing movements of pulsating pleasure echoed against the underside of his glans. (It’s called sensation play. Look it up, people. If you haven’t tried it, you don’t know what you’re missing. Heh.)
Are you comfortable?
(struggling to form a coherent sentence) I’m okay.
You do not have permission to cum.
(a gasp, followed by stunned silence punctuated with uneven breathing)
And then I left the room.
Well, what did you expect me to do? One doesn’t just LOSE an entire bloggy response and then not do anything about it! So I left him there to consider how his own actions got him into the predicament he was currently in, while I wandered off to rewrite my response to Nate. (Yeah, yeah, priorities. Whatever.)
The point I’m getting at is this:
Mission oak headboard: $429.97
Microsuede cuffs: $27.95
Silicone vibrator: $79.99
The look on my spouse’s face when he realized I’d cuffed him to the bed and was about to walk away and leave him to his own good vibrations, without permission to cum: Priceless
Mastercard ain’t got nothin’ on me!