Friday, September 19, 2008

blush

Goodness.

millie - you do remember millie, don't you? Well, if you were a regular reader, you would - well, millie made me... what is the word? Blush? Maybe. Maybe not quite right, but we can go with that.

millie made me blush.

It was her response. After I'd penetrated her.

No, silly. Not like that. Stop making assumptions! And let me explain. Please.

For awhile now, when we've talked, it's been lovely. Sensations. Lots of them. My hand, my fingers casually dancing here and there. There and here. For millie, it's been a bit of sensitivity awareness. What her nipples feel like, cleanly shaven, as fingers dance over them. As fingers encased in satin gloves dance over them. As nipple clamps press them flatter and flatter. And as she talks about what she's feeling. How nice it is to be able to share those sensations with someone who understands. With Me.

you know, she is just so sweet. How comfortable she is talking about things that used to be uncomfortable. That used to seem unnatural and awkward and that now, well, now, everything just seems to flow out of her, like a giving energy that wants to heal the world. It's just remarkably beautiful and wonderful.

So, the penetration. she loves to feel receptive. Passive. Accomodating.

I love contrasts. Dark and light. Hot and cold. Soft and firm. Absorptive and reflective.

Do you know about sounds? The highly polished, thin metal rods that doctors used to use to - I'm sorry to bring up such a distateful subject - clear the urethral passage after it'd gotten gummed up through some kind of nasty venereal disease? The sensation, I'm told, of the unyielding rod sliding into that small, oval hole is, well, interesting. Not full out pain. More anal sex pain. The opening and stretching of an orifice (any woman knows that - just ask her gynecologist!)... with the added wrinkle of something going the wrong way down a one-way street. Apparently, the burn of the stretch and the invasion are quite intense, but somewhere between pain and pleasure, where intensity and euphoria lie.

Which is just where I wanted millie to be. Between. As she is in so much else of her life. Male/female. Repressed/open. Anal compulsive/anal expulsive.

Eewwwww.

Sorry.

A sound needs - big surprise here - lubrication. It's not a question of forcing them in, but letting them fall. Ah, the wonders of gravity.

The sight is quite remarkable. The rounded tip, glistening in the light, the lube on it, as it approaches that tight, tender hole. There's a moment, where it's about to touch and finally does, of electricity. The connection - the charge - is something I never tire of seeing. Never tire of hearing or feeling. The slight intake of breath. I can almost feel someone steel their groin and will themselves to relax.

And then the rounded end touches and the opening begins to give way. To accomodate. To yield. To stretch. It's like a kiss, where you know the seducer will conquer. It's thrilling.

There's a silence. I imagine it's just the nerve endingings processing things. Primal. That's what it is. When sensations are so different that everything else seems to stop. millie feels me there, with her, guiding her, but there's not a word. Just her wish to accept and be open and be taken.

And she takes it. Slowly, opening, letting it penetrate her. Slowly slide in. Fill her opening. Stretching the walls. Getting fuller. Deeper. Almost as if she's pulling it inside her. Deeper until it reaches that tender curve where her body brings things back up. It's a difficult place to explore.

We explored. Near the tip. Down the center. To the curve. Making things straighten out and then pressing just a bit beyond.

Never had she been so open. Never so deep.

When I had her withdraw it, again there was silence. And then suddenly I felt something. Not physically. Just felt it. The dance of a tear down my cheek. And then I heard it in her voice. millie thanked me and told me she loved me.

Blush. No. Not quite blush. I wanted to wrap my arms around her. Press her head down to my chest and hold her there, hold the palm of my hand against her cheek.

she had gone beyond, and she had to the depths of her soul feel how important it was to her.

No. Not blush. she made me feel honored.










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