Melancholy and Femdom

There is certainly an emotional rhythm to the joy I take in controlling my husband and the joy he takes in surrendering to me. He tells me that on rainy days, he can more quickly and deeply immerse himself in subspace. This may be a reflection of the fact that I am less playful, but more sincere and noticeably more intense in my demands when the gloom of the weather affects my mood.

I think when we retreat into our minds and are less distracted by the activities that good weather affords us, we are more open to true intimacy. For my husband and I, intimacy is so easily expressed in terms of power exchange. I suppose that the silver linings around the rain clouds in our lives are easily wrapped around his neck with one end in my delicate hand.

Anatomy and Metaphor

It can be no coincidence that two of the activities that seem to have the most metaphorical significance to my husband and I involve the same small patch of our respective anatomies.

I love the physical sensatin of my husband's tongue on my labia and clitoris, but nothing quite says adoration like his tongue in my asshole. Yes, it has a very pleasant physical sensation associated with it, but there is something else. There is a certain comfort I take in the eagerness with which he worships this tiny rosebud that makes it all very special. Also, I know that it strains his tongue like mere oral sex does not. His analingnus is more of a thrusting motion than his cunilingnus, and I know it wears him out terribly to do it as long as I require.

Likewise, his own asshole brings me pleasure. I am resolute that it is a sense of feminine and not masculine power that I feel when I penetrate him with my own prosthetic cock. We most often do this in front of a large mirror that we have hung in the loft area where my massage table sits. He watches himself become my slut, which is something akin but slightly different from being my servant. He has told me that, physically, this is actually no comfort to him. Emotionally, however, he begs me for it.

Television Show Featuring Submissive Husbands

I received an email making me aware of the ABC show Wife Swap's interest in featuring a household where the husband is submissive and the wife dominant. Apparently, the show contacted Emily Addison to solicit help in finding such a couple, and she has posted a letter to that effect on her blog. Even given the $20,000 fee to participate, I am afraid I value my privacy a bit much for this. However, it occurs to me that it would be a wonderful adventure for a mainstream husband to show up in the house of a cuckoldress: "And now we live by my rules. Do be a dear and taste my lover's seed."

In any event, I think that the general public is not ready for loving female authority as the media remains too interested in the shock value of the lifestyle and not at all interested in the very genuine benefits. I believe that a sincere approach to the topic would have great interest to the audience of Oprah, the View, or any of these mainstream talk shows.

A Golden Pleasure Not Often Discussed

Since first writing about my initial experiences in having my husband consume my golden nectar, I have not said much more about this. We still practice this very often. In fact, he has become so good at it that I can be sitting in our den and urinate in his mouth without any fear that he will spill a drop. For anyone that has real and not fantasy experience with this practice, you know that my confidence in this represents quite an accomplishment on his part.

While he loves the symbolic nature of the act, he still abhors the taste of my urine. However, he has overcome the gag reflex and has conditioned his throat to remain always open so that he can consume my stream continuously and in large part without intermittent swallowing. We do not do it every day because we suspect it may not be the best thing for his body to be forever consuming my waste products, but it does happen several times a week.

I had once heard that drinking pineapple juice would flavor my urine. However, I drank a half gallon, and he indicated that it had no impact. What does impact the taste is how much water I have had in the hours prior. I can water down my urine, but I still want to make it taste like something special to him. I want him to crave the urine itself and not just the metaphor.

Any suggestions would be welcome.

Old Posts Seem as if Written by Another

There are certain of my older posts that I cherish as if lookihg through a scrapbook of black and white memories. Others seem unfamiliar, as if written by someone else. Focus is crucial to making any relationship work, not just a femdom relationship. I feel that I let myself and my husband down by not taking proper stewardship over our intimacy.

One thing that does not seem unfamiliar to me is all the wonderful comments that have been posted as of late. I am truly grateful for your patience in waiting for me to come out of the wilderness.

Suffering for Me

Yesterday afternoon, I spread grains of rice on the hardwood floors of our bedroom. I had my husband strip and kneel there, his hands behind his back, until 11:00 p.m. This was an eight hour ordeal. I suggest that my readers try kneeling on rice for ten minutes before dismissing the intensity of this act.

At 11:00, he came into the bed and pleasured me with his mouth. Afterwards he was permitted to have intercourse and climax inside me. He then cleaned up - the rice and otherwise - before going to bed.

I believe that we need physical intimacy that stems from penetrative sex. I believe that the presence of his seed in my body is restorative to both of us. I am happy, however, that the ritual suffering that precedes this activity is now taking place.

It is a small sacrifice given the weight of the reward.

Loving Me

Imagine me sitting back against an abundance of pillows. The room is lit by candles, my mind is warm with wine. My very wonderful but unfamiliar lover has stood up from the bed and watches me as he pulls on his clothes. My eyes are afixed on him as we share a smile. My gaze remains intact as my loving husband emerges from the shadows to position himself between my legs. He consumes me and knows in those moments an emotional and psychological place that completes him. My lover smiles, but shakes his head as if to indicate a complete lack of understanding of this man between my legs. If he mounted my husband, it would not seem to emasculate him as much. My lover finishes dressing and kisses me before bidding me goodbye. He ignores my husband.

In this moment I knew that these addictions must be controlled.

New Beginnings

The storm came very suddenly. We realized that we had become addicted to the roles that felt so natural to us, and we felt compelled to intensify our positions in the relationship. When we had gone as far as we could go, we explored tangents that seemed only remotely connected to where this had all begun.

We retreated, we repaired. We are through with the two steps back, and we are again engaged in two steps forward. He rubs and kisses my feet as I type this.

Goodnight for now.