Category: D/s Married

D/s, D/s Married, Garbage from my head, Struggles

Giving up the fantasy…

Mel Douleur

I have been contemplating my deepest, darkest fantasies…  the man from another life, completely violating, so unusual…  A conundrum of masculinity raging against compassion.

A sadist inside white armor, a gentleman encasing a monster, a demon coaxing the pain from deep within, and then soothing me, gingerly, like an angel with ethereal love.

It is fantasy.
Impossible fantasy.
Never an expectation.

But if this is the place I’m allowed to be the most honest version of myself…

Where I do not have to be perfect and complete…

Where I am allowed to explore the things I cannot in real life…

I fantasize about that man often. Dark and vicious, but calm and patient, who knows the power of sweetness alongside the torture.

A man who can hurt and humiliate me in ways that always keep me coming back for more. A man who would then allow me to curl up in his lap, to feel cherished and owned. A man whose knowledge of me would be so deep that a simple look or motion could bring me to my knees. A man with whom my aggression would quickly be turned against me, forcing my submission to bloom and stamp out my defiance.

Until a decade ago, I didn’t allow myself this fantasy. Until five years ago, I didn’t understand it was a real thing. Until a year ago, I didn’t know it was something people could incorporate into their relationships. Until a month ago, I didn’t realize how much I really, desperately wanted it.

Now, I force myself to evaluate how important it is.

Because I did not marry a man who is capable of the dark. He is a simple and good man. And we have a lovely life, that I often look right past.

(If you are reading this, you must hear this part, babe. It’s the most important thing I’ll ever say on this blog.)

I love that man. I love our family. And I’ve been deplorable at being a part of it lately. I’m sorry for that. No depression or self-exploration should ever come before love and family. More than anything I have EVER fantasized about, I want to be with him…

Completely, 100%, heart, soul, mind and body.

Of course I want HIM to decide how much pain I can take, how much humiliation I deserve, how much sex I get, and whether I get release or not.  I want HIM to have full say over my body.  I want HIM to push my limits.

That is what I’ve always wanted.

But I don’t NEED any of it.  I only need HIM.

I need the sweet, patience. I need the tender lover. I need the man who serves his family. I need the wonderful father for my son. I need the humble helper who takes care of so much that I don’t have time for… because I’m busy fantasizing about what I want, instead of evaluating what I need.

I need the soft and hard.
The good day kiss.
The cuddles in the dark that turn to insistent teasing.
The playful spanks that lead to the pussy smacks.
The bites. The spooning. The grinding.
The mind-blowing orgasms that set me on fire.

All the things he already gives me…

Oh yes.

I’m giving up the fantasy. The impossible fantasy.

Because I married the perfect man.

I chose him 12 years ago. Out of dozens. I met him and thought:

“He’s too good for me. I’ll have to trick him into thinking I’m better than I am.”

He gave me an orgasm the first night we made out.
I loved him before I ever knew his middle name.
Weeks before I told him so.
Months before he reciprocated.

“He’s too good for me.”

I fell madly in love with his family, his interests, his loves, his stuff, his style, his everything.

And when he asked me to be his bride, I couldn’t believe it had worked!

“He’s too good for me.”

As I sit back and think about that, about what those first few years were like, forcing myself to be “better” for him. Teaching myself to be a “good girl”. Burying my slutishness as we made our life, setting it free only in the bedroom.

“He’s too good for me.”

My God, all this torture I’ve put myself through in the last six months. Refusing to see that the fantasy was unnecessary. That the sadist was already inside of me. Right along side the masochist. Performing a sublime dance of insanity.

I married the perfect man, for me.

And yes, he is too good for me.

The sadist will continue to inflict his damage, while the masochist in me writhes and seethes for it.

But my white knight, my gentleman, my angelic partner… my Husband…

He will soothe me, with his perfect love.

And perhaps, one day, the pain He gives will be enough, and I can give up the sadist completely.
Or, maybe, in the future, the masochist will no longer need so much, and I can bid her adieu.

It may not be perfect. And you may not understand.

But he does. He understands me. What I need, what I want, what we can be together.
And it is perfect.

I BELIEVE that this is not “too good for me.”

D/s, D/s Married, Erotic Poetry

Seduction

Mel Douleur

Whispered thoughts
breath against your ear
tiny kisses on your neck
sweet sighs and silky moans

Arms spin and wrap around me
fingers slip inside my sweater
nips of my earlobe and jaw
pinching my tight, pink points

Growls about patience
whimpers of frustration
your grin against my neck
pleads for more met with a laugh

Pressing me into the island
flattening my hands against the counter
I feel your desire against my behind
cannot stop myself from writhing

Pushing my chest down to meet my hands
leaning over me until lips meet ear
grumbles about patience, again
then hand meets ass with force

Three blows, each side
hard enough to sting
but arousal wins you over
as you pull me back up by my hair

Fingers dip inside my jeans
sliding inside satin thong
the ribbon, you call it
and chuckle again

Hand in my hair
slides down to my throat
fingers exploring my slick folds
cut short by the voice of a child

Don’t worry sir, don’t fret
the seduction will continue
all day and every day
I will seduce the fucking hell out of you…

D/s Married, Erotic Poetry

Desperation

Mel Douleur

Clinging to this strand of sanity,
Gazing upward at the strong, barren ground I lept from,
Then downward at the foggy, misty, opulent gorge below.

Only a silken thread holding me between the life I knew and the one I believe I desire.

But He still grips the ledge.
He will not slide down with me.

I slip further and further from him, as the thread stretches between us.
This strand of sanity threatening to break.

If he’d follow, we could slide down together, embark on this beautiful journey as one.

If the line snaps, I will free fall into oblivion.

I’ve already taken the leap, Sir.
I’m sorry I lept before you were ready.
I cannot climb back up.
Please join me…
Before it’s too late.

D/s Married, Erotic Poetry

His perspective

Mel Douleur

I feel her curl up against my back, pressing her bare breasts into my skin. I know she needs her sleep, she hasn’t slept well in weeks. She scratches my skin lightly, those tenuous tiny circles that make me weak and make me hum. She slips her fingers up the back of my neck into my hair, making those circles there, too.  I hear myself groan and wish I could ignore her wiles.  Her lips touch my skin as she attempts another seduction tonight.  I tell myself to order her to sleep.  I tell myself to turn to her and gently tell her I can’t do this every night.  I tell myself to do anything but lie there, dismissing her.  But I do nothing.

She starts to relent, I know she’s feeling rejected.  But I still do nothing, I just close my eyes and allow the night to take over. I don’t understand why she seems to need something every single night.

I wake to her hands, still flowing over my skin, but more insistently.  She’s worked up, writhing and kissing the back of my neck. I glance at the clock, it’s 1:32 am. I wonder if she’s slept at all, but her fingers and lips and breasts on my back feel so good. Her wanting me. Her pleasuring me. When I turn toward her, those nails begin their journey over my chest and stomach. Her breath on my skin feels heavenly, and I realize she’s achieving her goal. I bend my lips to her, slipping my hand in her hair and dragging her into a deep hard kiss.

She moans into my mouth and my dick responds with a vigor that is unusual at this time of night. I push her hand down to feel, and her reaction is perfect. She wants it, pulling it free and worshiping it with her fingers and grip. She wants to use her lips and tongue, but I’m not done kissing her, so I hold her firmly. She whimpers against my lips and I want to hear it again, so I pinch and twist one of her nipples.  God, she’s so sexy when she’s worked up like this, making these noises.  I call her a slut and she practically cums just from my words.  

I decide to use her, the way she says she wants to be used.  I push her hands away and stroke myself, she watches and practically comes apart, again. “You want it, don’t you.  But you like watching me touch it.”  She moans and wriggles next to me, playing with her nipples and licking her lips.

“Fuck me with your tits, bitch,” I sound ridiculous, but she loves it.  She loves every second of it, and slides down on top of me, jacking me off between her heavy breasts.  Watching her, feeling her, knowing she’s not going to get any release from this, I think maybe I do like this.  I do enjoy having the power.  “I’m gonna cum in your face, slut.” I still sound like an ass, but it’s getting easier. And I love turning her on, getting her off, giving her whatever she wants.

As I get close, she’s moaning and whimpering, I love that fucking sound and blow my load.  It’s weak, she just sucked me off the night before, but two nights in a row! Maybe we’re getting somewhere. She thanks me. That feels weird, but she’s smiling.  She cleans me. She enjoys this. She likes me like this. She wants me like this. 

Why should I deny her the pleasure of pleasuring me? If it keeps her here, keeps her interested… I should act however she needs me to act.

I should be however she needs me to be. It’ll only get easier, right?

The kisses have. Those silly full blown kisses she wanted so badly each morning, now I even look forward to it. The way she looks at me after, and hangs onto me, and those noises…

The spanking has. That night I spanked her on the couch and finger fucked her until she was a quivering mess. That was awesome.

The humiliation has. The name calling and telling her what to do has gotten easier every time. I think I’m starting to like the dirty talk. It’s hot.

I don’t mind all the stuff we’re doing, but what if she keeps wanting more? What if I can’t be what she wants? What she needs?

If she needs me to tie her up… if she needs me to beat her until she cries… if she needs me to pleasure her for hours… and then clean her up after?

I’m not that guy. I don’t know if I can be that guy.

Maybe I just need to set the ground rules. She wants rules. She wants structure. She wants defined roles….

I have no idea what really goes on in my husband’s head. This is, of course, a guess. You tell me, Sir. Am I close?

D/s Married

Soft and Hard

Mel Douleur

An ordinary night, to bed too late, I expect less than nothing from your soft, tired mood. I step in front of you, in satin and lace, just in case, just to see. You whistle through your teeth… a good sign, perhaps, but I keep my hopes soft. When you slide into bed, you pick up your phone. I feel a soft frown cross my face, but don’t let it wrinkle me. I close my eyes and breath a prayer, ready to drift into the soft sleep that beckons me. I hear you do the same, but then you turn. You encompass me in your soft embrace, pressing your front to my back and wrapping me in soft love. Soft kisses on my shoulder, neck, ear. Soft breath in my hair, over my back. Soft touches across my skin. Soft moans escape my lips….

Then I feel you, hard, against my naked bottom. Pushing hard, between my cheeks. You bite my shoulder, hard, that special spot that turns me to liquid. Your hand dives into my nightie, pulling then pinching, hard. I squirm and writhe, you do it again, hard. Your cock, growing and throbbing, I reach back to be sure… yes, hard, very! Your fingers move swiftly, dancing hard over my clit. I rub your hard cock against my ass while you play and press, nibble and kiss.

My first orgasm approaches too quickly, so it is soft, the waves washing over me like bathwater. Your touch becomes soft, and I whimper my disappointment into my soft pillow. I plead for more, my body desperate for more than soft.

Your response is quick and hard. Unexpectedly, I’m on my belly, your weight on top of me, hard against my ass, as you shift my legs and hips. Readying me for hard thrusts, you dig your fingers into my ample flesh. You drive into me fast. Wow, you are hard. I feel myself clench, excited just from your excitement… Your erection. You slam into me, hard, over and over, until I come hard, shaking. Leaking silky arousal down my legs.

Your movements soften, your own release found in slow teasing. As you softly stroke in and out, while your fingers glide over soft, supple skin. Your climax is long and soft, and your breath falls on my skin.

But you don’t stop. My hard moans and wiggles tell you that I’m not done. Still semi hard inside me, you grind against me, grabbing my neck and pushing me toward another orgasm. I groan as you press me, hard, into the mattress and growl for me to cum again. My body obeys your hard command and is undone by the hard heat you sear into me.

You still aren’t done, when you pull out of me, my ass exposed. Your hand comes down hard, laying blow after deliciously hard blow on my cheeks, and sex. It doesn’t hurt at all. Each hard thud pushes me higher. Oh my God, I’m going to cum like this. My dripping pussy, clenching hard, your hand’s punishing rhythm sending me far, far away.  Hard, hard, harder, harder… I’m melting into it, and that last hard orgasm sends me through the floor.

As my body settles, and my mind returns, you softly stroke my heated bottom. You softly kiss me and softly whisper your love for me. Soothing my skin, my lust, and my soul, softly.

I’m lost in the cacophony. The mix of hard and soft. Delighted in all of it. Surprised at most of it. Bewildered at how I achieved it. In awe… at how you created it.

Thank you, Sir. Thank you for the hard… and the soft.

D/s Married, Garbage from my head, Real Life, Struggles

Infinite

Mel Douleur

bampw-forever-infinite-love-Favim.com-414753_large

I want more, in general. I want more sex, more intimacy, more connection, more growth, more touching, more smiling, more desire… More hope. More than anything, I want to feel confident in our love.  I want to feel that we are infinite.

I had a very low point this morning where I really thought, “what if this is what the beginning of the end feels like.”  And then you left, to spend the day away from me.

That is why I wrote ‘Ache’, to get that question out of my head. After I did, I spent some time with our little one.  I cleaned.  I crafted. I read. I emailed a friend. I did laundry. I played with our son again. I thought. I prayed. I read and I emailed some more. I still felt it.  The Ache.

Then I got to have a great conversation with a new friend.  He has seen the end.  Faced the end.  Is now on the other side of the end.  He does not believe I am near the end.  He has faith that I can get what I want and need, fix our marriage, enjoy a long, lovely life with our funny little family.

It finally started to subside.

I don’t know if it was having someone’s attention, the conversation, or the hope that blooms within me from this particular friend’s optimism.

But I felt better. I was actually smiling. And I know this much.

I love you more today than the day we married.
That counts for a lot.

I am addicted to you and cannot imagine a day without you.
That’s incredible, in the face of what I’m missing.

I cannot imagine EVER finding happiness with another.
You have ruined me for anyone else, in the best ways possible.

No matter how much more I want,
Even if you can never give me more,

My love for you is Constant.

Always.

Forever.

Unconditional.

Infinite.

D/s Married, Garbage from my head

Possibilities

Mel Douleur

You start at my fingertips, you kiss them and stroke upwards, feather light.
My breath catches.

Your fingers find my cheek, brushing over my lips to stroke the other.
My eyes close.

Down my neck, covering every inch, touching and feeling, until your palm finds my nipple.
My mind spins.

The softest contact, blanketing my skin in chills, but igniting a fire I can’t control.
My heart races.

Your lips find mine, your tongue demands what your touch suggested.
My body flames.

I plead for more, pressing and pushing.
Chaos ensues.

Each time is different.  The possibilities are endless.

Your warm breath on my neck; intoxicating.

Your grasp, pinning me down, taking what is yours; exhilarating.

Your long fingers, playing with me, teasing me; euphoric.

Your hand smacking my sex, spanking my lips; flying.

Your smooth cock, stroking me from the inside; sublime.

Your hot desire, hammering into me; soaring.

BODY-SCAPE-44180128

All those possibilities, options, choices…
You never fail.

And when I return to earth…
When I am complete…
When you have loved me, invaded me, satisfied me, used me, enraptured me, taken me, beaten me, pushed me, enlightened me…

My world is plenary.
My heart is whole.
My mind at peace.

Oh, those possibilities. ❤

D/s Married, Letters, Real Life

Dear mel,

Mel Douleur

I’m writing to you today to remind you of something.

Perhaps a few things.

First off, you are blessed.  I know you don’t see this, and it’s difficult for you sometimes to quell the negative feelings long enough to focus on the positive, but it’s true.  You have a beautiful family, a good job, a lovely home (even messy, it is still lovely), and everything you could possibly need in life.  You are married to a kind, gentle man who is devoted to you and, by some mad stroke of luck, you still love each other after 11 years. Your relationship is better today than it has ever been.  You are blessed.

Second, it is ok to cry.  You don’t have to and should not hold it in, it isn’t good for you. Even when you don’t know why you are crying, He will hold you, and you know this.  But for some reason, you still hold it in, or hide it in the shower.  When you’re sad and you need his arms around you, tell him so.  He won’t mock you.  He won’t deny you.  And you’ll feel better, you know you will.  Yes, it’s just a mood, and it will pass, but perhaps, a lot more quickly if you let him soothe it away.  And when you do, I’ll bet it will take longer to return.  His affection is your happiness.  Ask him for it.  Your happiness is his happiness.  He will offer it, readily.  And don’t hold him responsible for not realizing when you need it.  You are a good actress.  How could he ever know, when you mask it so well?

Third, and most importantly: Thank him, appreciate him, be available to him.  You are giving your submission to him.  He needs to hear it. feel it. Taste it. Always. Consider how everything you do is for Him.  Put yourself in it completely, and then thank him for allowing you to do so.  Kiss him and hug him often. Offer yourself to him nightly. When you can’t interpret his needs or wants, ask him.  Be available to him. Be AVAILABLE to him.  You cannot do this while you are sulking, avoiding him, hiding your mood.  BE AVAILABLE TO HIM!

You are his.  Blessed to be so.  Revel in that, and enjoy the life you have created together.

When you need to be reminded, ask him to do so.  You are his.  And your happiness is his happiness.

Until next time…

Sincerely,
yourself

D/s Married, Fiction

Sweet Distraction

Mel Douleur

Sitting in my office, fumbling through paperwork and frustrated with the incompetence that some of my employees have been showing lately, I hear a message alert from my phone.  I pick it up and instantly feel more relaxed, it is a message from my Sir.  He is up for a promotion at work, so he hasn’t been communicating with me much during the day over the last few weeks.  I miss the sweet distraction of his messages.

I open it and read, “Lovely wife, what panties are you wearing?” I’m completely surprised and feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“Blue striped thong, Sir,” I respond quickly, wishing I had something with bows on instead. He loves bows.

“Are they comfortable?”
I wonder at the odd question but answer, “Yes, sir. They are nice.”
“Are they wet?”
Oh my, I hope this isn’t going to get too racy…  I have had no reason to be turned on today, but of course, just thinking of Him and answering His questions has me a little excited. “Not until a moment ago, Sir.”
“Take a picture.”

Oh geez, this IS going to get racy.  “One moment please, Sir,” I type back and make my way to the restroom.  I’m stopped on the way by a coworker who asks a question that I must answer immediately.  I hear my phone chirp, but don’t look at it, knowing that my Sir must be getting impatient.  When I finally continue to the stairs leading up to our breakroom, I glance down at his message.

“I will forgive the delay only because you are at work.”  I giggle as I open the restroom door, contemplating the punishment he might give for such a delay.  I lock the door behind me, prop one leg up on the counter, hiking up my skirt slightly and snap the picture. My panties are clearly wet at this point, and knowing how much my sir appreciates thongs, I also snap a photo of my milky white behind. It is in desperate need of some attention after a week of very little playtime.

I wait for several minutes to hear back from him, and am just about to give up when my ringtone starts signing at me.  Yes!  I get so excited by midday phone calls from him that I actually do a little dance before answering the phone.

“Good afternoon, Sir.” I say sweetly, and then melt when hear his familiar growl.
“I can’t seem to get you off my mind today, sweet girl.  Tell me what bra you’re wearing.”
“Dark blue lace…”
“Mmmm, are your nipples hard?”
I slide my hand inside my blouse to feel. “Yes, sir,” I exhale into the phone, my voice slightly shaky.
“Open your shirt and pull your bra under them.  Take a nice picture for me.”
I nervously but quickly complete his task and as it sends, I whisper, “Are you alone, Sir?”
“Of course, little one, I would never share you with anyone.” I smile, admiring the way he can make me feel safe at such a distance.
“Oh, lovely, sweet wife.  You are a treat.  I will be sure to reward you tonight.”
I whine slightly and sigh.
“Were you hoping for something now?”
“I… I suppose so, Sir.”
“My naughty girl.  What have you learned recently, about expectations?”
“That they often ruin things.”
“Good girl.  I’ve kept you long enough. It’s time we both get back to work.”
“Yes, Sir.  Thank you…”
“Have a nice afternoon.”
“You too, Sir.”

As we hung up, I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.  I straightened my clothes and smiled as I looked in the mirror, knowing he was probably looking at my naked nipples right now.  My clit twitched a little, but the knowledge of his lust, even just over the phone, was quite enough to satisfy me until that evening.

As I opened the door to leave the restroom, my phone sang again from my skirt pocket.  I pulled it out and answered, “Hello again?”
“Take one more picture for me.”
“Yes, Sir…. Of what?”
“Your sweet mouth.”
I smiled and sighed, quickly flipping back to my camera app and snapping the picture. “There you are, Sir. Now I really should get back to work.”
I hear him chuckle as he receives the picture of me sticking my tongue out at him. “You know you’re going to get spanked for that later,” he grumbles, but with humor in his voice.
I tingle all over at the thought. “I’d EXPECT nothing less.  Thank you again, Sir!”

After we hang up, I send him a beauty shot, mouth slightly open and tongue licking the corner of my mouth.  “Here’s Your sweet mouth, Sir.”
fbl-lip-lickI walk back to my office, uncomfortably aroused, but now determined to stay as busy as possible for the next 2 hours, impatient to get through this day.

When I reach my desk, my phone chirps.  “As always, you are so sweetly distracting.  I EXPECT to use that delicious mouth this evening.”

Oh, I’m looking forward to it, Sir!