In the book, Norman writes about how we as children use our imagination to add fun to our lives. I agree with him, that it is a shame that as adults we often lose that capability.

There are some adults who role play through the form of video games. That is deemed “normal” for adults. Yet, erotic role play in the bedroom has become something we don’t talk about, as if it is taboo.

Of course many of us don’t talk to our friends about the details of our bedroom life, but even talking about erotic role play as a general topic is something people find embarrassing. It is often the butt of jokes and scripts on comedian shoes. It is great to be able to laugh, but we shouldn’t regulate imaginative sex to a place of ridicule.

In his book, Norman gives script ideas for couples who lack imagination or simply like to start with an idea and take it on their own from there. I am not going to go so far as to recommend buying the book. If you have any imagination at all, you don’t need to purchase it. If you have ten bucks to blow and a kindle to read when you get bored, and most importantly, you can stand grammar that is on par or worse than mine, then maybe.

Mostly I just wanted to bring up the idea. I recommend that you talk to your spouse about it. You can use my post as a spring board for your conversation. Then take an at home date night and lock yourselves in the bedroom. Make some preparations before hand if necessary. If you both have an idea of what role you are going to play, you can think about your part and what you might do or say. You might even dress for it.

Hey, how about starting off with a farmer and a milkmaid.
Guys love it when their ladies become a wildcat.
Guys can be a knight in shining armor.
How about taking him or her prisoner?
A little part time sex slave or bondage?
Butler or maid etc.

Really get into it and have a good time.

As you play and have fun together, you might find you want to quietly extend the roles of a week or more at a time. You will have this little insider information to carry around between you.

You might find you have a dominant or submissive personality as each one of you takes a certain type of role. Who is going to be the policeman or policewoman for example? If you see a pattern develop, I suggest you can read up on “sensual power exchange.” I have found it very self enlightening for us as a couple. Our ANR fits in nicely. If you live in a traditional “HOH,” (husband is head of the home,) like us, then you already have a form of power exchange that isn’t readily acceptable to modern society.  “Don’t knock it until you try it.” LOL.

The previous post is an erotic story that describes a sensual power exchange and has some imaginative wonder to it. Some of you were wondering where it came from. Now you know. Read the post before that, and you will see it coming. All this self honesty and discovery, all the safe vulnerability to play, letting out secret fantasies, and our acceptance of our kinky fetishes; a close relationship is what makes it all possible. I credit the closeness to our ANR.

Lap Bitch

My master sits and pats his lap. I know it means, “Come.”

Like an obedient bitch, I pause only long enough to smile with my whole body and take in the thought of what we are about to do. Then I climb on his lap, straddling, with a knee on each side of his hips, and my breast level with his face.

Immediately my breasts perk up, and my nipples come alive. He will admire them for a while before tenderly teasing them. I am not sure who is getting the most enjoyment. We both groan.

When neither of us can stand the teasing any longer, he grabs a breast. All the tenderness of his approach has given way to his lust. He takes my nipple into his mouth and draws it tight with the first few sucks to the back of his tongue. The vacuum is tight ,and it pleasantly hurts a little. Then from behind my nipple I feel the “pins and needles” feeling
of my milk letting down. The vacuum disappears. He responds with a moan at the
taste of my milk. At this point I usually lose my composure.

I melt. My hands go to his head. Without losing the conscious feeling of his mashing grip of my breast and the rhythm of his lips on my nipple, my fingers become tentacles. The tips of them take in the cut ends of his short hair, and that contrasts with the overall silky and velvety coating it gives his scalp.  I bend my head over and pull a short snip of hair through my teeth. I take in the smell of his hair as I taste it.

From there my fingers travel down his neck and over his bare shoulders. I feel every crease in his neck, every bump and fine hair across his shoulders and down his arms.

There is a positive charge of energy coming from him through my fingers. Energy is flowing out of my breasts back into him. Then like a light bulb turning on, I become aware of the pulsating between my thighs. Is it originating from him or me? There is heat, hardness, wetness, and all these other sensations drawing my attention.

My thoughts are interrupted for only a minute second as he lets go of one breast and eagerly attaches to the other. My focus returns to my breasts, then my finger tips, and again back below my hips. I begin to grind and gyrate, something searching, until we connect and lock, like a piston in its chamber.

Just when I think I am on sensory overload, he begins to drag his finger nails down my back; slowly, slowly, and again slowly. The firmly applied sharpness of his fingertips sends tingles down my spine, while the heat and hardness below me sends vibrations upward. All the while his lips never leave my nipple.

My finger tips dig into the muscle under his shoulders. My breath changes, my moaning changes, my spine goes stiff and my thighs squeeze his. Then, without any conscious effort, my body does the lap dance that all other lap dances can only mimic.

I scream.

I melt again; like jello my arms fall to my side, and my head rests on his. There is the smell of his hair again. I try to bring my breathing back under control. I become aware of him, still attached to my breast, and his arms wrapped around me.

He lets go of my nipple and smiles.

11/08/2011 Loving It (an pen name I adopted many years ago for erotica)
This was written by me, and may only be used with my permission.

Come.

Faults; we all have them. Mistakes; we all make them. Sometimes they’re little ones that we manage to display frequently, as if they are a part of who we are as a person. Heaven knows I have my share of character flaws that drive others crazy and taste to me, like humble pie. Then there are the other kind; the big doozies, the hopefully “only one-timers” that can be forgiven if they don’t become a pattern.

Some days, my character flaws, mistakes, and even my meanness… stand out more to me than others. After one of those doozies I begin to wonder if I will still find acceptance from those who it matters most to me. I am not hoping for my actions to find acceptance, just “me.” Will “I” still be accepted?  When I find that I still am, I know that I am loved.

I think my oldest “entering adulthood” son must have made this connection too. There was a time a couple years back, that he made sure that he came home and told me of his actions that he knew I would not approve of. I could tell by the questioning look that I was being tested, or rather that my love for him was being tested. Each time the next situation would be more outrageous than the previous one. After it was made clear that I would never condone his actions and there would be consequences, but that I would always accept him and love him as my son, the testing stopped.

Well, who sees our faults and has to deal with them more than our spouse? After years of marriage we have had plenty of opportunity to mess up. Forgiveness is not always found quickly, even when the love is genuine. It seems no one can hurt us as much as those closest to us. We are more vulnerable to them. Of course that goes both ways. We have more power to hurt those we love or who love us. Everything matters more, because we matter more to each other. Acceptance of our most hidden quirks can be like that. It can take time to come to grips with them or just actually weigh what place in our lives together it has played, or will play in the future.

Recently, my husband and I had a getaway weekend. There was a lot of nakedness in more than the obvious way. I feel like we got to see parts of each other that we have kept hidden over our quarter of a century marriage. It wasn’t so much faults, as it was quirks… but maybe they would be taken as faults… They were those parts of us that we knew without love and devotion to color our glasses, might cause rejection. Quirky, kinky, or just odd, it is amazing after all these years to find there is more freedom to experience and explore ourselves and each other further than before. Secrets and desires were not only told to each other, but also self revealed.  I hadn’t even know things about myself that I learned that weekend.

There we were all alone in a special time we had carved out for ourselves. It was very dreamy, and reality of life beyond that weekend was shut out. Everything was so romantic and our location gave us complete seclusion. We were in our own little world.

The morning came when it was time to pack up and go home to our real world of schedules and responsibilities. It was like waking up, wondering quietly to myself how much of it was perhaps just parts of  dreams in the little sleep we got during the nights. As we were on the road towards home, we began discussing our agendas of the coming work week. We also talked about the kids and the normal topics that revolve around them.

More than a week has went by, and our conversations have only skimmed the surface of that weekend. There is even more twinkle in our eyes… that “we have shared secrets” or mischievousness. There was no guarantee that it was going to turn out this way, and I am not sure where this is leading us.

The sure thing is the continued acceptance. It doesn’t have to be spoken. We know it still exists every time I cup a breast to offer it to him, and he buries his face in my bosom.

stock photo; no relationship to the post or author

Even with our regular bosoming times, my breast still crave attention between those times. I find myself going bra-less, knowing that the peaks in my top created by my nipples will draw him like a magnet. If we can not fit in an extra bosom time, it will at least result in a squeeze of my breasts or the lifting of my top for a quick taste.

This craving of attention… the longing to be touched even if it has only been an hour or so since I last had his undivided attention… It makes me think of my younger years when I had no real understanding of how a man’s “manhood” craved attention. Yes, I knew it was true, but knowing it and understanding are different. How naive I was to think my rewarding his manhood with attention must require at least some time consuming romantic gestures on his part first.

Now I know better, and I am as “grabby” as he is. “Roman hands and Russian fingers” describe both of us. I grab his perfect round butt cheeks every chance I get. I also rub to coax the genie out of the bottle to fulfill my wishes whenever circumstances allow it. There is no longer a need for drawn out rituals, though we still enjoy those times too.  

After a quarter century of marriage, our bodies still crave each other’s attention. How nice it is to be able to just give in to it. I know this “easiness” is because the emotional intimacy and the security is already established and reconfirmed by the other small acts that we now subconsciously do regularly after years of making them a part of our lives together.

I am as crazy about him, maybe even more so, than I have ever been. He makes me feel like he wants me just as much. It is obvious that we miss each other when we are apart through the day.

We are truly bosom buddies.

Yesterday was a busy day for my man. He made it home for lunch and dinner, but bosoming was crowded off the priority list by the need to return quickly to work. 

My heart and my breasts ached all day. I am trying to find words to describe it. It was worse than disappointment, worse than hunger and greater than need. It wasn’t a feeling of rejection, because I understood the reasons. Yet there was that deep aching pain, that intense longing both emotionally and physically. 

You just can not quiet the aching breast. I kept trying to find solace in the idea that bedtime bosoming was a sure thing. Ten o’clock came and went, then eleven. We finally climbed the stairs like zombies and dropped in bed after 2 am. For the first night since I can remember, there was no bedtime bosoming, but I too, could not stay awake a moment longer. I fretted in my sleep, wondering where our commitment to bring back the flow of milk went. I dreaded the morning with the thought that maybe he had changed his mind; maybe it was rejection after all. 

The alarm went off at 6am, just three and a half hours later. I actually expected him to reach over and re-set it, using our normal bosoming time for more sleep instead. 

My doubts and fears were laid waste by the intense eagerness in the pull on my nipples. I sighed loudly, and whispered in relief, “I was worried that you had changed your mind.” He came up for air just enough to emphatically say, “No way!” Then as if to prove it, he attacked my nipple with passion, almost burying it in his throat.