Confused and conflicted

My sessions with WK have always been about escapism.
Our play has been about creating an empirical place that is derived from the fantasies that exist in our imaginative thoughts.
It has been about escaping the responsibilities, expectations, standards and obligations imposed on us by every entity and person in our lives from the goverment to ourselves.
In our sessions we create a nothingness that allows us to bring forth our fantasies that only exist because everything real has ceased to exist while we play.
During our play we suspend reality. We create an alternative. Reality and the alternate we created did not exist at the same space or time.
Now, with the line crossed, it does.
Now his wife in an unknowing player in our play.
Now our play is no longer separated from our reality.
I don't know how I feel about it...other than confused...guilty and yes, to the detriment of my character, excited.
WK was my playmate years before he was a married man.
That was my justification.
Although I never admitted it, not even to myself, there was a power shift when she came into his life because she become more to him as his wife than I am to him as his playmate.
I never admitted it but I respected it because I was someone's wife so I understood it was the natural order of things, it was the right order of things.
Now...now with fantasy influencing reality, shifting the power...I'm conflicted.

Lines

Once the line is crossed, once you are standing on the other side of it, it can be difficult to determine how you got there.
I may not fully understand the path we took that led us to the edge of the line, but I know the moment we crossed it.
The clarity of that moment isn't soon to fade.
It began, as our play time together usually did, with him standing naked before me, the clothes he had handed to me neatly folded in a pile and set aside.
I had other clothes for him to wear; silk stockings, garter belt, pretty lace panties and a corset.
I watched as he dressed, beginning the transformation and when I pulled the strings constricting his waist to a mere 26 inches, my body reacted.
I became so focused on him I forgot anything existed outside of the walls of the room we were in.
I pulled from the closet the flouncy skirt, feminine blouse and high heeled shoes, handing them to him so I could continue to watch as the transformation progressed.
I do enjoy watching him.
It seems he never looses his shyness in dressing for me.
I applied the final touches of mascara, glossy lipstick and page boy wig with hands I barely kept steady as anticipation surged through my nerve endings making my body vibrate.
When I was finished, I made him turn for me, letting me see him as I made him, completely transformed.
That is how he gives himself to me, by letting me know his secret, by sharing it with me and having me be a part of it.
It is that we share this secret with only each other that excites me.
Once I finished my inspection, I instructed him to lift up his skirt and show me his cock tucked in the pretty panties I bought for him.
He bunched his skirt in one fist, the material being pulled upward one finger at a time until he grasped enough to pull it to his waist and then pulled the white lace panties down over his cock, letting it spring out.
He has a gorgeous cock.
I told him this and he blushed, his eyes cast down as he shyly said, "thank you".
His cock was only semi-erect, not from a lack of desire but because he had purposely taken pills to decrease his ability to get hard.
He had taken them for a week and had not been able to become erect for five days.
For five days, with our session planned, he purposely had taken pills that made him physically unable to fuck his wife.
The line had begun to blur.
I sat on the edge of the bed and told him to bring his cock to me.
The small sounds he made sent a thrill through me that pulsated in my cunt.
I love sucking his soft cock.
The feeling of it stuffed in my mouth, rolling my tongue around it, having it so pliable and easily manipulated was delicious.
As I sucked, listening to his whimpers, my cunt began to throb with need.
It was a pill that took away his erection, it would be another one that would give it back.
"You will be hard for me". I placed the pill on his tongue and gave him a glass of water for him to swallow.
I positioned myself with my ass nearly off the edge of the bed, my knees up and legs spread, my pussy exposed and ordered him to use his semi-erect cock to make me cum.
He got between my legs, his cock in his hand and began to rub it like a dildo between my pussy lips and over my clit.
It felt so incredible to have him rubbing the ache, increasing it, until my orgasm gushed to give me relief from it.
But it was a momentary relief, I craved his cock inside of me and nothing else would fully satisfy me.
I made him stand, his hands at his side, his cock peeking out beneath the hem of his skirt.
"Is your cock hard for me?"
"Yes." He said it as if it caused him pain.
"You couldn't get your cock hard all week, could you?"
"No."
"You took those pills knowing your cock would be useless, didn't you?"
"Oh...yes."
"You knew you wouldn't be able to fuck while you were taking them, didn't you?"
"Oh, gawd, yes, yes, I knew."
His voice with nearly inaudible, a child who had gotten caught doing something bad.
"Tell me."
"I took those pills knowing I wouldn't be able to fuck my wife."
There.
That is when the line evaporated.
"You want your cock in my pussy don't you?"
"Yes, please, yes."
I instructed him onto the bed, on his back, so I could tie his wrists together over his head.
I flipped up his skirt, his cock was engorged and wanted it buried in my cunt.
I straddled him, spreading my pussy over his cock and grinded.
"Do you have to think about being dressed to get hard for her?"
"Oh, gawd, yes, it's so bad." His voice was raw with the conflict he felt and my orgasm flooded over him in response.
I felt mad to have his cock in me, so maneuvered and slid down his length slowly, feeling as he filled me, it was ecstasy.
His groans were maddening.
"You think about this don't you? When you're fucking your wife?"
"Oh, please..." He thrashed, the lust of his body and conflict of his mind colliding.
"Tell me."
"Oh, yes, I think about you when I'm fucking her...you control my cock...it belongs to you."
It was an intense explosion, his cock inside of me and my cunt wrapped around him.

With no lines to restrict us, now what?

(more thoughts on this later)

I say "fork" it

I was introduced to this beautiful little tool, called a tuning fork, by a friend of mine who is massage therapist. He is not only very skilled in using it as an effective massage tool but also in using it to stimulate my sexual parts.
In the case of massage, he rubbed down my shoulders and upper back first using manual manipulation and Reike energy (A Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that also promotes healing by using the "life force" energy in our bodies.)

The pressure of his manipulations was too much for my knotted up and extremely sore muscles to take, even with the warmth being generated by his Reike technique through his hands.
It was a good hurt but it was a hurt that became more intense with each touch and I couldn't endure it long enough for him to work my muscles into a proper state of relaxation. A masochist I am not.

He pulled out the tuning fork, explaining the low sound frequency (the vibration) would relax my muscles and relieve the pain sensation by aligning the Chakras (energy centers) of the body.

I have had Reike massage before and understood the concept, have even benefited from the practice of it in the past and so didn't have any hesitation in allowing him to use the tuning fork.

The sensation of having the tuning fork placed on my body and spreading vibrations through my muscles to the depth of my bones was incredibly relaxing.
I felt the pain relief almost instantly as if the tuning fork was a magnetic that pulled it out of my body.

He used the tuning fork at the base of my neck, across my shoulders and at various points down my spine until I felt like a jelly fish.

As he worked my lower back and butt, with a combination of manual manipulation, Reike energy and the tuning fork, especially the tuning fork, an undeniably sexual energy was building.
Being the shy and reserved person I am [cough], I told him about the sensation and how erotic I found it.

He laughed asking, "Is this where I admit I have ulterior motives?"

Honestly, the man could have cut me in half at that point and I think I would have enjoyed it or maybe just not cared since I was simultaneously relaxed and stimulated.

My response was simple, "Do more."

He had me roll over onto my back (he had to help because I seemed to have lost all physical strength and coordination) and began at my collar bone, using a mist oil that smelled exotically of almond oil and lavender.

The feeling of his Reike warmed hands, the skilled application of pressure and the scent of the oil had me with my eyes rolled into the back of my head and my mind so void that I am not sure I would have known my name if asked at that moment.

Then he used the tuning fork on my nipples and on the sensitive areas of my tits.

Oh.My.Gawd.

There really aren't words to accurately describe the decadent feeling of having sound waves vibrate through my tits.

The energy spread from the center of my nipples like a thousand point of warm light. I have never had my tits feel so sensuous.

Although I felt detached from my body, I wanted desperately to be T.O.U.C.H.E.D.

He made his way down and after spraying a bit of mist between my legs, he used the tuning fork on my pelvic region, causing the deepest ache of sexual need I have ever experienced next to being denied an orgasm for two weeks.

He massaged my pussy, the heal of his hand at the top and pressed downward, without his fingers penetrating.

It was crazy making teasing.

I was literally humping his hand with wanting.

Then he spread my pussy open, and hit my clit with the tuning fork.
My orgasm squirting from my body as I screamed in pure ecstasy.

My clit throbbed and when he used the tuning fork again, I was screaming, grinding my teeth, thrashing and clawing into the massage table from the intensity of my orgasms.

As intense as it was, it wasn't enough, and I was wild with wanting to be fucked.

I felt like an animal in heat, no cognitive thought, just the primal need for a cock to be inside of me.

Luckily, not only did he bring his tuning fork, but he also brought his cock.

At the end of it I felt rejuvenated with energy and as if every bone in my body turned into helium infused gelatin.

I am buying one of those tuning forks.

Gone again

So, Husband and I are no longer together, again.
I sound like a broken a record enough that even I am weary of hearing myself say the words.
The break-up was completely unexpected, although our relationship was teeter-tottering on a weekly basis we hadn't crossed the line into not wanting the relationship.
It came down to money.
Yup, I know exactly, to the penny the dollar amount Husband was willing to give up our relationship for, and it isn't over $5,000.
Thank goodness someone didn't kidnap me for ransom because it seems I wouldn't be worth the price to Husband.
Of course, the break-up wasn't truly about the money, that was just the catalyst, which it shouldn't have been because the money was a) jointly ours and b) being used to secure our future not on something frivolous, like say a pool table.
Sadly, I haven't shed one tear.
I am actually relieved more than I am saddened, although I am saddened because I do love Husband but, well, to quote a song that I can't remember the title too, "sometimes love just ain't enough".
I am in selfish mode at this stage of my life, having been left financially in ruin by Husband the first time, not to mention emotionally battered and having to rebuild my life from the ground up.
This stage of my life is about me.
It is about fixing the damage done by having Husband leave the first time, which I have been slowly doing for the past year and half.
Within an couple hours of Husband declaring he wanted me out of his life, I was planning all the things I could now accomplish that I am not obligated to spend time with him.
I realize that is a very sad statement, that I should have been curled up in the fetal position crying my heart out, but yeah, I've done that before and it isn't very productive.
I suppose him leaving me has become so routine that I am effected by his departure less and less each time it happens.
Of course, the true ugliness is on the horizon as we work out the conditions of the divorce especially the financial aspects in regards to dividing the 401k money, untangling financial responsibilities for mortgaged real estate and deciding the ownership of personal property. Not to mention the terms of custody of our child, although we have to this point agreed to joint custody with the provision our son lives full-time with me and Husband has unrestricted access for visitation. However, if Husband becomes disagreeable to these already established terms, I will fuck up his world. *smile*
I am a reasonable woman, right up until someone messes with my kid.
Although, I am hoping that with us having been separated for nearly 2 years, our own lives established in different households, that we can keep the ugliness to a minimum, filing the divorce paperwork ourselves as uncontested and not involving lawyers.
I have proposed a time line of no more than 6 months to Husband that we work out the divorce details, all of it in writing with no verbal negotiations, as there has been too many misunderstanding between us and only with a written record will similar misunderstandings be corrected.
If I could wave a magic wand and have it be done and over with, I would swinging my arm like I was aiming for the bare backside of a strung up submissive.
Unfortunately, disconnecting two lives, as much as they can be disconnect when a child is involved, that have been connected for nearly two decades takes time.

Meanwhile, I will be continuing to focus on improving my life.
I am three weeks into the first course of my undergraduate studies.
One of the reaons I haven't been posting here recently very often, although I do have several semi-written posts I plan to finish this week-end.
I am still waiting for previous college transcripts, that were written about the time of the Dead Sea Scrolls, to be received so I will know my full curriculum, as well as an estimated time for graduation.
Although the time I need to study does cramp my schedule up a bit, I am enjoying being a college student again as I do love to learn.
There is a certain pride that comes from working toward a goal, accomplishing the small steps toward it and doing it even though the odds are not in your favor.
Or maybe the accomplishment is all the more to be savored for that reason.
I may not graduate until I'm 109 but I WILL graduate and then they can bury me with a smug smile on my face.

Details

WK has taken to calling me Monk in reference to the television character played by Tony Shalhoub, who does an amazing job portraying the phobic, obsessive-compulsive, dysfunctional yet amazingly perceptive detective.
The nickname isn't in reference to the phobic, obsessive-compulsive, dysfunctional characteristics, at least I'm fairly certain, but to the character's ability to notice and remember details that are often over-looked by others.
Of course, if you ask me where my house and car keys are at during any given moment I will have to spend 20 minutes locating them but I remember every piece of jewelry, in detail, that WK wears on a daily basis even though he removes all but his wedding ring before we play so I rarely have seen him actually wearing it.
Noticing the details about people, situations, locations, environments, objects is something I do naturally without purposeful thought.
Let me tell you it makes watching a movie without continuity annoying because I notice the inconsistencies from one frame to another.
WK wondered to me if people would feel comfortable in my presence if they knew all that I observed about them.
It was an interesting question; do people want their details to be noticed?
People communicate without knowing they are doing so by their details; the way they stand with one hip slightly jaunted out when they are relaxed but stand with leveled hips and locked knees when they are tense, the way they twirl the stands of their hair tight when they are nervous but let it slip lazily through their fingers when they are relaxed or the way they bite the inside of their mouths at the bottom of the front of their teeth when they are thoughtful but drag their teeth over their lower lip when they are sexually excited.
There is history in people's details; the fade line around a significant finger from an often worn ring, the scar that leaves a jagged line mid-way across the right thigh and the slightly bent pinky finger on the left hand that never set correctly from being broken.
It is the details that make people unique; the strawberry colored birth mark that resembles the petals of a blooming flower just along the pubic line, the freckle that provocatively peeks out of cleavage, and the slightly crooked front tooth that makes a smile endearing.
It isn't just about physical details either; it is about favorites such as foods, music, colors, movies, as well as birth dates, style, habits, personal history, moods, speech patterns, interests, causes, individual politics, religious beliefs, thought processes and idiosyncrasies.
I have made people nervous, anxious even, in noticing their details, especially the lesser noticeable details because in this world where people mingle together noticing so little about each other, my perceptions have been misinterpreted as obsessive and Annie Wilkes-like.
On the other hand, as is the case with WK, my Monkish perceptions of him give validation to his ego that he is interesting enough and important enough for me to make the effort in knowing so much about him.
Although there are occassions when I unbalance him with my knowledge, he finds it flattering that he is a subject of my observation.
Of course, that could be because when I tie him down it isn't with the purpose of subjecting him to physcial torture like breaking his ankles with a sledgehammer...it's little details like that that make all the difference.

Taking things into consideration

A friend and I were sitting on my porch, having a couple drinks and discussing life.
She is married, in a female led marriage with a submissive man and is also involved in a lesbian relationship outside her marriage with her husband's knowledge.
You'll notice I said knowledge, not permission.
As we were discussing our lives I commented that I wish I had a domestic submissive who had a cleaning OCD and no interest in a sexual arrangement because my house was in need of cleaning but I was too exhausted to clean it and had no interest to be sexually involved with an additional person.
My friend didn't understand what domestic service and being sexually involved had to do with each other, so I shared my experience with her that every submissive I have encountered has had expectations of exchanging their services for the fulfillment of sexual fantasies or as part of a sexual arrangement, including Husband.
In my experience there is no such creature as a submissive, domestic or otherwise, that is content in performing service for a Mistress simply because it lessens the burden on the Mistress.
The caveat is there is always a sexual component to the submissive's expectations; dress him in a frilly maid's outfit with high heels, put him in a diaper and humiliate him, make him strip and wear only a cock ring...the expectations are endless and maybe it is selfish of me but I rather clean my house than expel my energy to fulfill a fantasy of a "submissive" who is only interested in serving as a means to an end in satisfying his sexual agenda.
Ironically, if I had a submissive who would serve me selflessly, their only intent to ease my burden however they could, their selflessness would have me wanting to reward them.
It is like with an animal pet, when they are selfishly devoted to you, you can't help but adore them.
After my friend listened patiently she made an observation, "You're going about it wrong."
As she is a friend, and a dominant woman who has a relationship of which I am envious, the comment didn't ruffle my feathers but peaked my interest in knowing what she meant by "going about it wrong", so I asked exactly that, "what do you mean going about it wrong?".
"You're asking what they want other than to perform service for you and it doesn't matter if they want something else, that's their problem to solve, not yours."
I understand the concept, I really do, but maybe it is because I am a switch at heart or still struggling with traditional concepts of compromise that I struggle to put the concept into practice, more so with Husband than with anyone but the struggle is there with everyone.
Adults have responsibilities of work schedules, parenting, taking care of their parents, relationships with other people, paying the bills, maintaining a household and a thousand other things, things I believe have to be taken into consideration...she stopped me..."you can't be that considerate, if they're with you, they're there to serve you, that should be the your only consideration".
I sighed.
I am still sighing.
I not that I don't think she is right, because she is right, I know that but what I don't know is if I am capable of doing a D/s relationship "right".

He's whining, and now I am

If Husband and I lived in the same house, perhaps our relationships would be more easily constructed into the D/s relationship both of us have agreed we want.
Unfortunately, we live in separate residences and much of our lives are lived separately because of it.
It is difficult to incorporate D/s when the time we spend together is limited not to mention the time we are able to spend alone is even more limited.
Hell it is difficult to find the time to have vanilla sex let alone to find the time for a scene.
Currently, there is no longer a D/s aspect to our relationship and without it Husband has become moody, edgy and insecure, complaining weekly about how he feels I don't express a sexual desire for him or even a general interest in him.
It is exhausting as every week I have made an effort to mollify his insecurities, followed by his moodiness with discussions and implementing plans that address his concerns.
We discussed my schedule and time restraints between my responsibilities as a mother, my job and the time needed for my studies.
We discussed his need to remain flexible if our plans didn't happen for a valid reason.
It only took two days after having sex for him to withdraw into his insecurities and into accusing me of losing interest in him.
He constantly has a complaint regarding our sex life ranging from the frequency we have sex to the quality of the sex we have.
It seems no matter the effort I make to address his complaints, he still complains and it results in me feeling hopeless that he will ever be content with our sex life or with me as his sex partner.
He seems incapable of understanding how his complaints negatively effect me and my sexual desire for him even though I have discussed the issue with him nearly every week for the past several weeks.
There is nothing sexy about a man who is always complaining and rarely seems grateful for the relationship he has or the person with whom he is the relationship.
I've considered I am just lacking in the skills or possibly the motivation required to be dominant in this relationship.
It seems he is the passive-dominant, his moods dictating the course of our relationship not to mention effecting my emotional status, and that doesn't make me happy.
The problem is with my time and energy focused on improving my life, the one that exists separate from Husband, I simply don't have a reserve to focus on finding a viable solution.
Sadly, my attitude can be summed up in saying, "He left once and I did fine, let him leave again."
I know, it is a piss poor attitude and one I need to change if I am going to stay in a relationship with Husband, but at the moment that is how I feel.
I want a relationship that enhances my life and selfishly I want it with a person who supports my becoming the woman I am trying to be and to become, not throws me back into my previous co-dependent behaviors of being the secondary partner in a patriarchal marriage.