The Wank Band

“You can orgasm if you cum before I count to ten.

Amy hates that.

Hates hates hates hates hates hates hates hates hates hates hates hates it.

Or so she says.

Personally, I think it’s kind of fun.

She’s all agitated, and writhing, and begging for permission to cum, and then I give her permission.

Sort of.  It’s permission with a proviso.

And to hear her reaction, you’d think I’d done her a disservice.  Gratitude?  Oh no – It’s all “Bad Man this,” and “Bad Man that,” and “No no no no no no no”  “That’s not enough time,” and similar sounds of protest and unhappiness that are, quite frankly, very erotic to listen to.

I should make a tape.

Anyway, it’s delicious fun, especially the counting part.  I like to mix it up a little.  Start off real slow, “One……….Two………Three………” and then “FourFiveSix” real fast, like I’m going to get to Ten right away, and then she’s lost her chance.

That’s happened before.  She doesn’t make the cut, and then she’s done.  She’s not allowed to cum.  I must say, it’s a wonderful feeling, fucking her at a moment like that and cumming in her, knowing that she’s not about to get any release herself.  Deliciously cruel.

And effective as discipline.  Or maybe not – who really knows?  But it’s sexy and I like it, so I’m cool with it.

I used it yesterday.

Amy had gotten sassy.  The kind of “Pay attention to me I’m insecure and need to feel loved and important” sassy that is so baffling when taken at face value.

Which, as a guy, is how I always take it.

I’ve told Amy never to hint at stuff to me.  Tell me what you want.  If you want “X” for your birthday, tell me you want “X.”  Don’t leave painfully obvious clues and hints for me to pick up on, because I’m a simple man.  I’ll never figure it out. I’m not big on nuance.

Amy has been researching our old correspondence. Fate tried to stop her, once by me cutting my finger and having Amy force me to the doctor’s for stitches, and once by interrupting her with a nearby earthquake that rocked our house and threw things on the floor.

But she persisted, and all of a sudden I have a wife who’s telling me “I’m not what you really wanted, you wanted a girl who is X,” X being a characteristic largely defined by it’s being the opposite of how she perceives herself.

Now, I’m a guy.  This baffles me.  I don’t recognize it as insecurity, it seems to me like a sudden, inexplicable failure of logic.

I come from a gender that doesn’t often get the following joke:

Wife:  Tell me that you love me.

Husband:  I’m still here, ain’t I?

Ah romance.  So anyway,  Amy is feeling insecure and getting sassy, more so as her headache is passing and she’s feeling energetic, and I’m being all logical about how she IS exactly what I want, and she’s adamant that she isn’, and the whole thing is starting to make MY head hurt.

Then she mentions the word “insecure,” and a light goes off in my head.

Oh.

So we’re not really dealing with logic here.

We’re dealing with insecurity.  My little girl needs to feel owned and important to her Daddy.

Sounds like we need a little torture here.

So we talk and cuddle an go over what it was in our old correspondence that made her feel insecure, and I start playing with her nipples.

Well, I call it playing.  I don’t think Amy has a word for it.  She’s not exactly sentient when we do it.  Lots of moaning and writhing and half formed words.  Actually, she does pretty good with single syllables, it’s combining them into longer words, or full sentences that seems to be a challenge.

Oh.

She bites real good too.

I think that she has worked hard at memorizing the one full sentence that suddenly coheres out of all the moaning and protests. “Daddy, may I touch myself?”

I often say yes, but this time I just laughed and said  “No.”

Oh my.

The howls, the unhappiness, the”Why can’t I?”

What a question!

“Why can’t I”

“Because you’re not allowed.”

Duh.

I’m having too much fun playing with her nipples to let her masturbate.   And she’s getting desperate to touch herself. I tell her she’s not allowed, and then I tell her she’s not allowed to go through our old correspondence anymore, and a few other things, and she’s getting pretty frantic.

Then I give her permission to masturbate, but she still has to ask if she can cum, because I haven’t decided that yet.

Migod her nipples.

Like bullets, rocks, you name it – so hard and firm on her soft breasts – drives me crazy with desire, if I can be honest.  I’m lucky I’m sentient, myself.  She wriggles so much I keep losing my grip on them – if I suck them I can keep them in my mouth, but she twists and squirms so much they keep pulling out of my fingers as I torment them.

Finally, after numerous requests (wow- my little girl can beg like the furies when she has too) I decide to let her cum, but only if she can cum before I finish counting.

Hey, I don’t want her getting all cocky and confident on me.  She was sassy just a little while ago.  I want her to know just how close to the edge she is of NOT getting what she is so desperate for.

I count, and while I count I tease her, and make her laugh.

That breaks her concentration.

Heh heh heh.  Cruel.

But she focuses, and her forehead furrows and her fingers fly like the wind and she’s holding her breath and I count to “Seven” and suddenly she’s gasping for air and cumming hard.

Good girl!

She’s exhausted and spent and just perfect for a good fucking, which I indulge myself in.

And now I think we’re good.  Insecurity kept at bay.

Plus a few rules, nothing major.  Some things she’s not allowed to do.

And when she wants to read our old correspondence, she has to get my permission and I’ll sit with her and read with her as she looks things over.

Although… (and she doesn’t know this yet)

She’ll be wearing all her chains and a leash when she does it.

I was away from home on business for a week, the longest Richard and I have ever been apart. Luckily I was really busy, or I would have spent all my time pining. I think maybe Richard was pining the whole time.  ?

I came home very late at night and it was heavenly to be swooped up in his big, strong arms. He drove me home from the airport and I chattered at him about every single thing that happened on the trip and then nuzzled up against his shoulder and told him over and over again how much I missed him. He didn’t chatter like I did, but he didn’t let go of me during the entire drive, stroking my hair or holding my hand or just resting his hand on my knee the whole way home.

We got home way past my bedtime. He took me by the wrist and led me up the stairs to bed. We climbed into bed and he hooked his arm  around my waist and pulled me against him, just like he always does. But it was a shock, because I’d spent a week going where I wanted to go and doing what I wanted to do. I actually had to remind myself that he has the right to do that.

A minute later he pulled my arm to the side and began fondling my breasts. I was tired and my breasts were tired so I tried to pull away. He pinned my hand over my head – the other was under my body – and began handling my breasts more roughly.

I said “Gosh I think I forgot what it feels like to be owned. It’s been a whole week and it feels odd to have you just move me around like that.”

He laughed; he thinks it’s funny that I sometimes need to be reminded that I’m submissive. He says he always feels dominant, that it never changes.

He rolled me over on my back and started playing with me in earnest. I struggled a little, but he pinned me down with his lips on mine. It’s hard to describe how he does it, but he has a way of holding my head completely still with one hand as he ravishes my mouth…it’s scary but very, very sexy.

He reached down and twisted a nipple – hard. I squealed and he slapped my breast and then slapped it again.

Oh why why do I find that so sexy? My hips started moving of their own accord. His hand slid down to my hip bone and then my pussy and I ground against him.

He shifted position and then slapped my breast again but harder. I tried to pull away but I couldn’t move. He hit it several times and then he switched to the other breast and slapped it hard.

I cried out. He had never hit me this hard before and it really hurt. “Daddy, please. Don’t.”

He pulled back and slapped me on the cheek. Three times, hard, and then pressed his mouth against mine again as he roughly tormented my breasts.

I gasped and struggled to break away. It was overwhelming. The struggling made him more ferocious and he slapped my breasts and my cheeks again and again until I was sobbing and begging and then I couldn’t speak and only cried.

Then he pushed away and leaned over me. As he shoved his cock into me I was relieved that he was going to fuck me because I didn’t want him to hurt me anymore. I looked up at him through my tears and his eyes were dark and I saw no mercy. I sobbed and clung to him as he rode me and came in me.

He rolled off and yanked me toward him, grabbed my breasts in his hands, and growled “cum”. I did, quickly and so hard, still crying.

After I came, he pulled me close and I tucked into his armpit. He told me I was his good little girl and he loved me and was proud of me and had missed me so much.

The next day I followed him around like a puppy. I couldn’t bear to be out of his sight and wanted to touch him constantly.

I still feel confused about the whole thing.

Hi guys! Bet you didn’t expect to see another post from me here. This should teach you to let me remain part of your blog! [insert delighted smirk here]

Readers, you might remember Amy mentioning that when she started exploring BDSM, I had the wonderful pleasure of guiding her a little bit, as I’ve been in the lifestyle for nearly a decade. I’ve noticed that she praises my wisdom far too much. Here’s a peek at the dynamic reversed!

Let’s go back a year in time. I was half a year shy of the end of my 6 year marriage to my former Master. I was confused and unsure of which way to go. I was done with my post-divorce/release phase of “done with D/s”, and the phase of claiming to be a new-born lesbian, and was in the process of moving 3000 miles to give a new relationship a try. I was very fascinated and hopeful about this guy, and also a little hesitant because some of the things he wanted were things that I was strongly considering moving away from, but I wanted to give it a fair try. I was also very excited about living 6 hours away from Amy, instead of on the other side of the continent!

I remember Amy and Richard visiting with us at the very beginning. Even as we were quite new in the relationship, we already had the dynamic down and were quite hard core both S&M wise and protocol wise, and both bruises and demeanor were firmly in place upon their arrival. I remember Amy writing a very sweet entry about the visit, and I remember her telling me that she felt like a novice, compared to what she saw there.

And I remember that I saw it very differently. If anyone felt like a novice, it was me. I might have the kneels, the posture, the demeanor, the backing away respectfully, and so forth, down… but my heart wasn’t quite with it. I was still trying to find my place, my comfort zone, my sense of belonging. Everything I did, I did with a deep seated fear of not doing it right, and was obsessing over the fact that I could never quite seem to get it down intuitively and smoothly enough. I was always just a little late realizing that his glass was nearing empty, always a little too clumsy as I was backing away, and I couldn’t relax to save my life.

And I saw Amy and Richard cuddled up on the couch. They weren’t that old in their relationship either, I think they had just passed their first six months of living together. But I saw Amy predict Richard’s needs before he even knew he needed anything. Not because she was obsessively watching his glass with a deep fear of failing to notice when it was nearing empty, like I was with my dom, but because she was so in tune with him that she just knew. I saw her spontaneously feed him from her fingers, and I saw him feed her. They were giggling, their love apparent in everything they did. I was thinking that Amy was so much more a natural slave than I was, because she acted so naturally out of love and celebration, rather than in that obsessive worryful way that I was doing it. (Later I realized that she maybe didn’t really do everything “right”, but she did it “right enough”, and seen through the perspective of his loving eyes, it WAS right. Not because she is perfect (even though she is!!!), but because he loves her, and he recognizes the pure devotion she feels for him and his wellbeing – as he feels for her as well.)

I remember thinking, I hope I will have what they have one day. Because that’s what it’s all about.

It didn’t happen with that dom. I never quite managed to get past focusing on all the things I was doing wrong, obsessing about not measuring up, trying so hard to avoid disappointing him, feeling like I was constantly being measured in a “not quite gonna make it” kind of way. In hindsight I realize that I lacked the awareness to pinpoint this, and in the heat of my desperation to try not to fuck up, I definitely was not aware of how counter-productive the negative focus was as opposed to the positive focus I have today.

It’s funny how you can do something, and do it really well, impressively well – and still not actually “getting it”. I started in a medium protocol relationship with gorean undertones, and moved to more protocol, even though I had already started wondering if that was something that really worked for me. It was all I really knew, and I had a hard time understanding how I could still feel like a slave without having a myriad of rituals to remind me. And this was part of the reason why I was feeling lost and confused.

I needed to see a different way, and see it work, and see it give the results that I really wanted.

And that is what I saw, when I moved down to stay with Richard and Amy for a while. Don’t get me started on the huge amount of love and spoiling I got there, because that’s not what this entry is about, but it sure helped heal me, extremely quickly at that too. What this entry is about, however, is their dynamic and how it inspired and influenced me and got me onto the right track. How they taught me in the best way – by example.

It started at that visit I mentioned up there, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. During my too few months with them, I started seeing D/s in a different light, a light that actually fit me much better than my “previous lives”. Their dynamic is just so.. ALIVE.. free flowing, filled with a constant, active energy. They really don’t have much protocol as far as I’ve noticed, and the reason why I am mentioning this protocol stuff so much is for two reasons: one because I needed that epiphany in order to be open for the right type of relationship for me, and second because what triggered this post in the first place, was an entry that Amy wrote several months back, about them not having a “normal” D/s relationship, not “scening”, and so forth. And I was so triggered and upset by it, because I see what Richard and Amy have as being FAR more evolved than that, and I just wanted to shake her and tell her “why on earth would you want to go BACKWARDS???”.

Watching the playfulness between Richard and Amy, seeing how they managed to be goofy and head over heels in love, vulnerable with each other, shamelessly adoring each other, and just really living life with so much joy and passion, and seeing how this all just fueled the D/s aspect of their relationship instead of somehow making it less “real”, that was the real eye opener for me. Realizing that it was possible to have a really deep, fulfilling, complete, passionate and meaningful D/s relationship without the rigidness of protocol and rituals, that the lack of rituals and protocol didn’t mean loss of power exchange, or anything less intense.

And it was a big relief, to realize that it was OK to do this without all the “demonstrating acts” that I had been trained to perform. That not only does submission remain and blossom in the submissive, but that the dominant also “gets it”, that he can feel the submission through other ways and still feel satisfied. Wow. To be able to serve so much more purely from the heart, instead of the brain! I realize that to some people rituals and protocol works GREAT – but for a scatterbrain like me, I end up focusing so much on attempting to not forget details that I lose the greater picture. Of course it also helps to have a dominant who loves and adores you so much that it’s hard to do anything wrong, because they just see your heart and devotion and think you’re cute when you’re being silly!

To me, what has always been the most important thing to a D/s relationship, is love. Deep, passionate, crazy love. I’m not truly a slave to someone, until I love them with heart and soul. I also need to be loved back. And I realize that my demands are getting quite high here… I want kink, I want playfulness, AND I want love! AND a family. AND… well, more! And it’s tempting to give up and think that one has to settle… “well, three out of five will probably do…” But luckily Richard and Amy helped me in that regard too, again through example. They really inspired me to not lower my expectations, and to keep believing that it’s not only possible, but necessary – and that I should have it. Nothing less would do. (I’m sure you can all imagine them scrutinizing the suitors, and agreeing with each other that NOBODY was good enough for their Megan! LOL)

And then, one day this very special man showed up on my door. I have never in my 33 year life fallen instantly head over heels for anyone, nor believed in that “first sight” kind of thing, but it happened that day. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew that he was the one I wanted. I suspected it before I met him, from what I had encountered of him through emails and phone calls, but the moment my soul connected with his, I just knew. (And if I’d read this paragraph a year ago, I’d have laughed my ass off and shook my head with amusement and lack of belief in that such things are real.)

That was the end of March, over 7 months ago. I’m still shamelessly, recklessly happy and in love. I’ve tried over a dozen times to write this paragraph, but I just can’t do this justice. I am just amazed at how it’s possible to be this happy. I don’t even know how to describe us. It really is like a dance, a beautiful, exciting dance. And it’s so smooth, so natural, so real, so unique, so “us”. He’s a poly sadistic dominant, and I’m a playful masochistic submissive – but that’s just the basis that we’re building our dynamic on. We’re taking some parts to the extreme, dropping other parts, and introducing whatever turns us on. And at the same time just digging the hell out of each other and having each others’ back.

And I’m just so grateful to Richard and Amy for pushing me lightyears ahead in gaining the consciousness I needed in order to allow this relationship to fall into its own place, and have the peace and openness to let it grow into something that is so unique and purely “us” instead of thinking that we “have” to do one thing or another. By focusing on the passion (and amazing, killer sex!!), and letting it grow into love, the D/s part just naturally flowed into place, and I find myself in such a scary, overwhelming OWNED kind of state that I’m lost for words. And the kick ass part of that is that I’m there, while still being absolutely, purely “me”, with scattered brains, a really goofy sense of humour, moments of evilness, and all those things that I have to some extent or another tried to tone down in other relationships, because I was so worried about not being pretty enough in my service. I’ve even gone back to college, with his amazing support and understanding, and I’m able to enjoy my studies without feeling that I am somehow not serving him well enough, by having such time consuming third party interests.

Thank you guys, for being such a loving and inspiring part of my life. I really, truly love you guys.

As I was saying, our trip to Burning Man proved to be quite interesting, and yet was the beginning of a very rough time for Amy.  We’ve been absent for a time here, largely due to health issues – Amy’s had a brutal year for migraines.  This kept her off her computer as much as possible, and writing for this blog suffered because of that.

We’re still together, (and how!) but the D/s over the past year has been greatly tempered by these health issues.  Basically, we couldn’t play as hard as we used to, or at least I didn’t want to – She had a lot going on, and I certainly didn’t want to wake her up in the middle of the night for her proper usage, when she had so little pain free sleep as it was.

It took almost a year, but we found a way to mitigate the migraines.  And so life is returning to where it once was.

We’ve talked about whether we should post here again – it so many ways it seems we’ve said all we have to say, but maybe there’s still more.  The past time in the wilderness is probably worth a post, but not yet.  Not by me anyway.

We want to move in a new direction, to keep things interesting for ourselves, and anyone still reading this.  We’re branching out.

I’ll write more about that next time.

I posted almost a year ago (Sept 3 “Joseph and the Pharaoh”) about the challenges I faced when Richard took over running our home. Honestly, it was one of the hardest tests of submission for me.

I know it sounds ridiculous – “Oh, no, please don’t take over cleaning the bathrooms and vacuuming, Cruel Master!” But I’ve been in charge of running my home throughout my adult life, and handing over that responsibility to someone else was hard. Really hard. It’s hard to feel submissive to someone when they are PUTTING THE GLASSES ON THE WRONG SHELF FOR GOD’S SAKE.

Over the course of the year I have gradually become comfortable with giving up control of homemaking to Richard. I still do most of the gardening, most of the “event planning”, and most of the organizing (he just doesn’t notice if books are put away upside down or sideways). I also pay the bills and make most of the financial decisions, although I always check with Richard before doing anything major (eg switching credit cards, opening an online savings account, or making a large purchase).

My financial responsibilities have been a bit wearing. We are in good financial shape, and I never pay anything late, or anything like that. But we aren’t really saving like I think we should be, and I think we are eating out too much and spending money on things that we don’t really need. The main problem, as I see it, is that neither Richard nor I have ever been the “brakes” in a relationship. We both are somewhat impulsive and enjoy change, and we have a whole lot of fun together. Neither of us wants to be the one who says “let’s NOT go out, let’s just eat at home” or “let’s not have wine with dinner” or “we don’t really need that new (whatever)”.

Neither of us has expensive tastes and we tend to want to buy things more for the other person than ourselves (Richard wants me to have more clothes; I want him to have more photography supplies). And, again, we’re actually on very solid financial footing. I just think we could do better, and it’s been bothering me a lot because I feel like I am shirking my responsibilities.

Richard brought up the possibility of taking over the finances a few times, but I felt too guilty to pursue it and he was (I think) unwilling to push me on it. A few days ago he brought it up again, probably because he could see how much it was bothering me. I chewed on it for a couple of days and then let him know that I was ready.

Yesterday, we sat down together and I walked him through our system – the online accounts, the files, etc. I reviewed everything I do regularly and explained what I was aiming for. I gave him all the passwords.

He listened and asked questions and then, when I’d covered everything, he took a stack of filing and went through everything. Since I got sick in December, I haven’t caught up on the financial filing and it was quite a stack. He worked through the whole thing, asking me questions when he didn’t know where something went.

When he finished, I thanked him and then I started crying. I was so surprised – he was too – but I think I’ve been more stressed about this than I had been letting on. I felt (feel) so grateful to him for being willing to take over this. I kept saying “thank you, thank you so much Daddy” and then I’d start bawling again. He just held me and patted me and said “It’s okay. It’s my job to take care of you.”

I’m hoping that this will take some pressure off, and I’m hoping that I will get some kinky pleasure out of submitting to his financial decisions. Maybe I’ll even get an allowance. : ) For now, I still feel a little panicky about not being in control of when bills are paid, etc. I just keep reminding myself of how hard it was when he first started taking care of our home, and how wonderful that has been for me (basically doubling my work productivity!)

I’d love to hear how other couples have dealt with this, and what works best for them.

xoAmy

Amy wore this last night.  She worked on her laptop, but had the first sexy nightie I ever saw her in tucked underneath her robe.  Absentmindedly, or perhaps for practical reasons, she kept the marker that she was using tucked into he cleavage, as you can see here.

Tantalizing.

We went to bed without incident, but later in the dark of the night, I awoke, and she was, as always, naked beside me in bed, facing away from me.  Soft, warm, feminine; and very easy to touch.  I stroked her back a little, then reached around and found her breasts.  I’d been playing with her breasts the night before, both before and after we went to bed, and now I found them deliciously soft, and cupped one in my hand, its nipple a firm bulge pressed against my palm.

I’ve mentioned before how her nipples are always at least partially erect.  On rare occasions they have laid low and smooth on her breasts, but almost always I find them perky and ready.  If she goes without a bra, her nipples always make themselves known.

I played with her nipple, gently squeezing it in my palm, between the lines of my hand.  The lifeline, the heartline, I forget which is which but I used that crevasse to fold around her nipple and press it, making it firmer.

Only when Amy is asleep do I get uncomplaining initial access to her breasts.  Awake, the moment I touch them she flinches, or says “No,” and tries to get away.  It’s an instinct with her, with her nipples so sensitive, that she recoils from invasion.  Even in the middle of intense sexual play, she objects every time I move my focus to her breasts.

Naturally, I therefore touch her breasts at every opportunity.

Dropping my mouth to her nipple brings out a long litany of “no no no no no no no no,” like a Greek chorus of disapproving Gregorian monks; the words rising and falling in a beautiful, sensual  rhythm controlled by the pressure of my lips.  A simple bite elicits a delightful shriek, and often humor, as she twists away with her nipple clamped between my teeth.  “Don’t hurt yourself,”  I’ll say, but it rarely works.  I’ll do the same with her nipple gripped firmly between my thumb and forefinger, telling her not to hurt herself, and yet, invariably, she writhes and squirms and wrenches her nipple cruelly.  My hand, of course, is unmoving.  Unrelenting, if you like, but still, it is her own movements that bring her the discomfort I enjoy.

Asleep, I have perhaps twenty seconds to lightly play with her breasts before she semi-wakes and tried to get away, or at the very least complain.  On this night, she is sleeping more soundly, or my touch is lighter, and I have several minutes of handling her soft breasts, her nipples fully firm in my hands as she sleeps.

When at last she does begin to stir, I slide my hand quickly down her back and between her legs, gripping her pussy.  She gives a little cry as I yank her ass up beside me in the bed, her body bent at the waist, and press my cock into her.

I hold her thigh with one hand, and with the other I press on her back, between her shoulder blades, keeping her bent.  I find my rhythm inside her body, as she makes little noises of dismay.  Amy likes her sleep, and doesn’t yield willingly in the night, but of course yield she does.  She moans something about being asleep, like it was relevant, and I continue to enjoy her body.

I am not gentle.

I let go of her thigh, and cup a breast, then massage both breasts roughly, first with one hand, then the other.  Lying on our sides, her facing away, I take her hips in my hands and drill myself into her.

She feels good.

There are times when I plan to make Amy cum, there are plans when I intend to cum and not let her, and then there are times when I have no plans at all.  I’m just fucking her.  And here I had no plan, except that I knew I was fucking her for my sake, and any enjoyment she could find from the whole experience was for her to glean herself.  I had other concerns.

At one point, I have to pin her hands away from her body to stop her from trying to protect her breasts.  I have free reign then, to explore her nipples as gently or cruelly as I like.  On this occasion, I do both.

I rise to my knees, and reach between her legs, hoisting her ass into the air, and with her suddenly on all fours, I enter her from behind.  I grip her hips, grab her breasts, and at times her shoulders, as I penetrate her repeatedly.

I grab her hips, pull out of her and then twist her to the left, flipping her onto her back. I grab an ankle, and yank her towards me, then move between her thighs and continue.  She begs for a drink of water from the nightstand, but I refuse to let her have any.  I like the idea of her suffering from thirst as I fuck her, and continue.

Eventually, I roll off her, to rest a moment, and Amy, who has not been silent through this, begins to beg for permission to cum.

I grant her permission, and play with her nipples and whisper in her ear what a little slut she is while she cums.

After she cums, I re-enter her, and fuck her while she moans something about being too tired.  Her body is delicious; wonderful to be inside, and I feel her sweat slicked skin damp against mine as I fuck her.  She makes sounds now, inadvertently, with each thrust into her.  She is clearly exhausted, and just being fucked, waiting for it to end.

Eventually, it does.

This is a quick shot of Amy at Burning Man.

She’s drenched.  One of the ways people shower and cool off here is to follow one of the dust abatement trucks that sprinkle water on the temporary roads,and run behind in the spray.

Here you can see her after chasng after a truck, and returning much cooler, and thoroughly soaked.