The king was laying down on his back, and I was crouching beside him, like I was playing leap frog. I was fellating (is that a word?), and I had to tell him to remove the few fingers he had inside me, for fear I might get overexcited and bite down on him.

I enjoy the role of being a provider of pleasure. I know I do it well, and I know that one cannot give pleasure without receiving it in return - whether it's sex, money, or the pride of a job well done.

This particular night was again after a period of separation. We were in a quaint cabin up north. The circumstances of our reunion were unfortunate (the near amputation of his father's thumb) but beggars can't be choosers.

There's a giddiness that comes with reuniting. That night, however, I was exhausted. As was he, I suspect. Nevertheless, we were particularly acrobatic that night, with me sitting on top of him, reverse-cowgirl style, a position rarely used in our repetoire. I became oddly emotional, with many different thoughts running through my head....

The next day, we travelled even further north (litteraly, not figuratively). The house was being renovated, with people coming in and out. Ha, and so was the King. Going in and out. I was nervous about being heard, but he apparently wasn't. I asked, when we finished, if I could expect more festivities over the few remaining hours we had left. The King looked at me like I had grown another head. Fewf.

It's odd that it is quite difficult for me to get off. Thought it is quite easy on my own, I find it difficult when I have a bit more of an audience. Perhaps it is the position, or maybe I feel I have to be a bit more aware of my surroundings. I'm not sure. I do know I have to make a bit of an effort; and sometimes I just don't feel like it. Again, sometimes I just enjoy being the selfless concubine.

So, later on that evening, we had both managed to squeeze into his single bed - the king, sadly, does not have a king-sized bed.

What I love most about our sex life is the wordlessness of it. There are subtle changes we can read in each other. We've learned each other's language. A subtle look, or a small movement of my hand means I want to push the limits a bit. And we did. Fucking hard and fast and deep, I went into a near trance. I'd resist, and he'd push me down. I got off quickly.

And then - SLAP. It was tentative at first. I almost laughed at first, if only because of the shock. I loved it though. I've never been slapped before - within or outside of a sexual context. My head was screaming HARDER, but I knew any harder would risk a mark, which would be much harder to hide then the bruises on my arms or the bite marks on my boobs.

The poor bed took a beating. The squeeks got louder and faster. Suddenly, he pulled me off the bed, and we ran downstairs, and I positioned myself, holding the stairs for support while he came at me from behind. I yelled and screamed, only to find out the windows were all opened. Oops.

Early that morning, just before I had to leave, I went down on him, teasing and playing. I've been practising deep throating, which The King seems to enjoy immensly. Perhaps this is something I can practise at home?

In a few more weeks, we can hopefully do it all over again. Pun intended.
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