The Foibles of Self-Pleasuring Ch. 03

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Of course, I had to break down and tell my husband about my misadventures with the nipple ring, since I had to explain why he was no longer allowed to come anywhere near my nipples for the rest of the summer. I was looking for sympathy, but got laugher instead. Oh well – that’s what I get for trying to take initiative.

He decided that perhaps I wasn’t very good at making my own decisions about sex and that I needed a little guidance from him. After all, I did prefer the submissive role over the dominant one, in general.

He pulled out a catalog of adult products that we had recently received in the mail. “THIS IS YOUR LAST CATALOG!” it proclaimed on the front. Apparently, we weren’t regular enough customers to guarantee a lifetime subscription for this catalog of sex toys and videos starring women with enormous fake breasts.

“I want you to order three things from this catalog by the end of the day, or you will be severely punished,” he told me in his most dominant voice.

“Are you kidding me? I don’t want anything from that catalog!” I said, testing him.

“It’s your choice,” he said calmly, staying in his role. “Order, or be punished.”

“Maybe I want to be punished,” I joked, sort of meaning it.

“OK,” he said, pinching my sore nipple, “it’s up to you.”

“Ouch! That’s not fair! You know that’s my sore nipple.”

“It’s your choice” he said, pushing the catalog my way, “order or be punished. Three items – one toy, one video and one item of your choice. Pick out things that turn you on, not things that you think will turn me on. Or pick out nothing, and take your punishment. At the end of the day, I want to see a printout of your online order form as proof, or you will be punished.”

That day, while I was home by myself, I flipped through the catalog and turned a few pages down – some ideas that had potential. Then, I got wrapped up in my busy day and forgot about the catalog.

When my husband came home that night he asked me, “So, did you order? Can I see your order confirmation?”

“You casino oyna know – I had so much to do today that I didn’t get a chance, and it’s not the kind of web site I am comfortable surfing around on with the kids home. You weren’t really serious about the deadline anyway, were you?”

“Order or be punished. That was the choice. I guess you’ve picked the punishment.”

“Please, be realistic. I had an extremely busy day and there is NO WAY I’m going to order with the kids home. Give me a break.”

“OK – you can have until we go to bed to place your order – that gives you plenty of time to make your selection after the kids are in bed. And I can see that you’ve already gotten started, judging from the pages you’ve turned down.

I was a bit annoyed by the demanding tone of voice that he was using, but he was more right than I’d like to admit. I was turned on by him telling me what I had to do (and even curious about what my punishment for non-compliance would be). Besides, it might be fun to add a few new items to our collection. I decided to give it a try.

After the kids were in bed, I headed into the office and began to surf the web site in search of my required three items. I thought the video would be the easiest to select and started with that. Most sex videos are geared toward men and have no plot, other than two (or more) people having sex, and they all end with the same cum shot – the guy coming all over the girl’s face while she makes incredibly fake moans and fondles her melon-sized breasts as if this is the most pleasure she could get. Stupid. Not engaging or realistic or anything that works for me.

So, I worked my way through pages and pages of two-sentence descriptions, looking for some semblance of a plot, and finally selected an ‘award winning’ video that was directed by a female and meant to appeal to couples.

With my first choice done, I moved on to the others. After much thinking and a thorough review of my choices, I selected a toy and a lube that I thought would canlı casino really help turn me on. I triumphantly printed out my order confirmation sheet from the web site to show my husband, keeping my actual selections a secret. He would have to wait until they arrived to see the choices I made.

After about a week of waiting (me much more patiently than my eager husband), the nondescript brown-paper wrapped package arrived in the mail with my items. I opened them in the privacy of my bedroom before my husband got home from work, to check them out. The video actually had a plot description on the back, which was promising. The “toy” I picked out was a set of Ben Wa balls – you insert them up inside of you, and the idea is that the balls bang up together inside of you, constantly reminding you of your sexuality and getting you more & more excited. The third item was a clitoral stimulating cream. The web site advertised that the cream would “get you so hot that even the lightest touch will make you come.” It did not, however, mention the incredibly long list of warnings that came with the cream – apply only to clitoris and do not allow the cream to touch the vaginal lips, wash hands thoroughly after applying, do not ingest, do not touch, itching and/or burning sensations are possible, etc.

So, other than the long list of warnings for the cream, my new items had definite possibility for enhancing our sex life. I showed them to my husband that night after the kids were in bed. Then, without him looking, I inserted the balls and headed downstairs to surprise him. I envisioned the balls knocking against each other and moving around inside me in a very stimulating manner. In reality, one of the balls kept falling out of me, as they were quite small (and I have had two kids…). I kept sticking it back up inside me, and then I would feel it work its way to the surface again. I felt like a circus clown who is surprised by ping pong balls coming out of his mouth. They just would not stay put. I kept shoving them back in and they kept falling kaçak casino out again. Finally, I gave up and kept out the one that kept falling out. Then, I reached in to find the other one, and couldn’t find it. There I was, sitting on the sofa, one wet, sticky ball on the table next to me sitting on a tissue, the other one hiding somewhere inside me. I stuck my hand up inside me, rooting around in a terribly non-sexual way to find the missing ball (there was no way I’d even consider an emergency room visit for a missing ben wa ball!).

“Um, honey? I couldn’t keep the one ball inside of me, but, uh, the other ball? It, uh, is still in there somewhere, and I, um, well, I… I can’t find it in there. I think it’s stuck way up inside me. Can you help me get it out? Please? Now?”

So much for purchase

. We still had two more purchases to try out.

We tried out the cream the next night. We read through the warnings and decided that we would try it out but make sure that he didn’t use his mouth or cock down there, in case there was a reaction to the cream. I carefully applied the tiniest bit of the cream directly to my clitoris (with some helpful direction from my husband) – thinking about how it was going to speed up my time to orgasm (which really did need some help, after all) and bring me incredible pleasure.

“How’s it feel?” he asked me.

“Hmm. Kind of like – ouch! Oooh. Not good, really.” It felt like I was having an allergic reaction – burning, itching, uncomfortable. I was afraid that it would feel that way forever and was not in the least turned on. I hopped out of bed to get a wash cloth to wash the cream off.

So much for purchase

. One more to go – the ‘couple friendly’ video. That weekend, after the kids were in bed, we plugged it into the DVD player and sat back to wait for the excitement to happen. I was pleased to see that there was a plot, with acting (pretty decent) and dialog (not too bad). The movie didn’t just jump into a blow job like the traditional ones, we had to wait for it to be appropriate to the plot. I was pleased with my choice, as I watched the movie and waited for the sex. Then, I fell asleep…

So much for purchase
. And back to the drawing board for me and my adventures.

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