Sisterly Specifics

My sister is exquisitely beautiful, with an almost exotic look. She does not always realize her own beauty, but recently is becoming more comfortable in her own skin. The evidence is in the tactful, but semi naked, pictures she sent me. It is just not the curve of her hip, the swell of her beasts, the deep dark eyes, the long and almost always perfect hair.
She is intelligent, quick witted, humorous. She has a loud voice and an even louder laugh. She quirks up an eyebrow that conveys a whole paragraph in meaning. She excitedly talks with her hands. She loves, hopes, optimistically. She's always up for adventures and very often creates chaos that she miraculously escapes from unscathed. She's impulsive. Caring and considerate. She has a great "O" face that she displays when drunk for giggles, that she disliked immediately upon seeing a picture of. She used to say her makeup was her best asset, refused to believe it couldn't be an asset.
She refuses to bow down, to be judged, to be swayed. She's opinionated and feisty.
She may be taller than me (by just a smidgen) but she's my little sister, my cohort in crime, and my first experience taking care of (BTW, I failed miserably at it) another person.

Silverdrop's Meme Mention

SilverDrop's Meme of the Week

SilverDrop's Meme of the Week



 

 

SilverDrop liked the photo that we submitted for Sinful Sunday. Her and her husband both contribute to her (their?) blog, and participate in a number of memes. What's awesome is then they pick their favorite from the week. This is an fantastic idea! Thank your husband for his service, from us. And thank you so much for liking the photo!

TMI Blogging

1. Do you write/manage another blog?
No, this one and reading so many others, takes up enough time and creativity.

2. Pick 3 random blogs from your blogroll and tell us why they are on your blog roll.
TMI Tuesday normally because I read these and think of my own answers, and if I'm already thinking it, why not answer and participate?
Wicked Wednesday A great resource for inspiration, and to discover how other people used the prompt.
Sinful Sunday Just a fun contribution, and visually creative to explore.

3. Look around your blog, tell us about two pages or links you want us to visit, be sure to provide a link to them in your answer to this question.
Postponing the Inevitable Because the writing was incredibly challenging. Not just because the memory was from years ago, but also because the reactions and actions of that night are still misunderstood and confusing - still to both of us.
Anal: The Final Frontier How do you take an awkward and nerve-wracking moment and change it to a positive spin? A high-five certainly helps, and so does humor and a "can-do" attitude.

4. Do you have any unique interests that you have never shared before? What are they?
Hmm, I like throwing knives...normally at my sister. Just kidding, I haven't done that to her since she was little. Thank goodness we outgrow adolescent angst, eh?
We're both avid readers, and we both suck at golf.

5. What’s your current obsession?
Completing my sex list. My partner and I came up with a hard/soft/curious/love list and and our working our way through (or will once we see each other, and he's out of a cast).

Bonus: Has blogging helped or hurt your sex life?
I don't think it's changed much. Only noticeable thing is that after great sex, I immediately feel the need to get up and write about it.
————-
How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Postponing the Inevitable

A continuation from Breaking Walls

The breath on my neck made my skin burn, so why then did goose bumps appear like I was cold? Next, the soft feel of your lips, increased the heat, followed only seconds by the tip of your tongue. It dipped against the skin, as if checking the temperature, before it plunged against the back of my neck, where it darted a path made by lips that moved slowly, sensually up and then around my neck.

I turned around and gazed at you in a direct way. You appeared startled by my look. But I couldn't hold your eyes, those liquid amber pools that reflected your desire and curiosity. No, my gaze was drawn to your lips that had just caused me to shiver and melt. Both lips were soft, the bottom fuller and keeping my focus. I found I wanted to suck on that lip, felt drawn towards it before remembering who you were and where we were, feeling a jolt in disbelief at my lack of control to the point where I almost caved into my urge.

Desperate to bring myself under control, I leaned over and grabbed your drink, shoved it towards your face, unable yet to speak, not knowing what to say. How do I turn down a dear friend?

Your eyes widened, and you grinned despite yourself before taking a drink, not removing your eyes from my face. There was a sexual magnetism about you that I just wanted to fall into. I had always found you sexy, and laying in bed, with your lips recently enflaming my passion, I felt that I would lose control quickly again.

You seemed to be assessing me, and almost as if making a decision, reached over me with your long arms and put the bottle down on the nightstand. Still leaning over me slightly, you were only inches from my mouth, and my gaze again focused on that bottom lip. My heart beat erratically and I couldn't tolerate the wait and anticipation and impulse any longer. I don't remember if you closed the space or if I did, but suddenly I was tasting those lips, the taste intoxicating as a drug, as sweet as innocence. I kissed you with my entire being, daring and bold, pulled your large frame further against my smaller one, molded us together.

I wrapped my legs around you, trying to leave no space between us, and felt your arousal through my pajamas. My breasts tingled and nipples tightened where your hard chest pressed against mine. The sudden tightening deep down inside of me made me hesitate. What in the world was I thinking? I lacked control and gasped, rolled out from under you so swiftly that you froze. We sat, faced each other. Eyes met eyes, your sensual full lips quirked upward, and I felt drawn again, and had to remind myself to not notice your lips.

"We shouldn't," I whispered, and again brought your drink to your face, stalled, thought. The heat coming off from your body was unsettling. How could I be so aware of your heat, even sitting upright facing you?

You smiled. "Okay," you affirmed, leaned slowly around me to put your drink back. But I forgot what we were discussing as you moved close to me and threw my arms you, pushed you against the mattress, tried to cover your body with my own. Again, you froze, your arms spread out helplessly, didn't hold or encourage me. I could understand if I was confusing you, my strong reaction to you confused me. But I didn't need any other encouragement other than the desire that you sparked. Hot, scorching passion that I was captive to, that made me melt into you.

But your arms still not being around me made me aware of who you were: my friend, and a man that doesn't have casual sex. As I moved my lips from yours and went to suck on your neck, I muttered, "the pants aren't coming off." There, that took care of casual sex, didn't it? I was proud of thinking of it, to have come to a logical conclusion of where this was going - no casual sex. You went to mutter, another okay...I think, but I thrusted my tongue deep in your mouth, and became aware of your arms finally around me. I was satisfied that apparently you found my solution agreeable.

I moved down to your neck, nibbled softly, felt you shudder, and then your hands grasped the bottom of my shirt and tugged upward. I offered no resistance, after all there was no rule against my shirt coming off, moved upright to make it a little easier to come off. I immediately moved back to your neck, felt your calloused hands on my smooth shoulders. My tongue moved onto your chest, tried to kiss every inch of the broad expense, your fingers caressed my arms, shoulders, back, so softly. My hands shook as I moved them against your bottoms, gently pulled the elastic waistband away from your skin, and stroked your hardened length with one hand.  

No longer gentle, you hauled me up against you, kissed me deeply and wildly. Twisting, suddenly underneath you, you returned the sentiment and covered me completely with your body, leaned up on elbows, cupped the side of my face, and just stared for a moment. I didn't want to think, felt panicked for a moment that I would stop us again, when you leaned down and softly kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose, before returning to my lips. Next, you tasted the side of my neck, teased the lobe of my ear, shifted slightly and grazed the side of my breast with your fingers. I moaned, wanting to encourage you, and felt your hand cupping my breast, fingers sought out nipple and teased to hardened points. Your mouth closed upon the nipple, hot heat on sensitive flesh, and I arched into your mouth. Those wayward fingers of yours followed the curve of my hip, down the outside of my thigh, back up again, followed the path of my waistband, gently stroked my belly, making me suck in my breath with anticipation, a warm knot settling underneath your touch; but you moved up and stroked the other breast that you weren't kissing. After you sucked and licked both nipples, you moved lower, tracing feathery kisses down my stomach, your hand sliding over the thin cloth, almost touched my mound, before teasing fingers grazed at the inside of my thigh, lightly stroked up, almost all the way up, and then down, and back up, up, almost there, and back with the same pattern to distraction. Your tongue followed a path along the top of my pajama bottoms, and I suddenly hated this cloth barrier, this would-be solution that I concocted.

A solution we both tried, for hours upon hours, to horrendously honor, but couldn't remain loyal, as we had a deeper calling to finally and blissfully answer to. 

How to even begin to describe that torturous night, with sins and satisfactions, is intimidating to me, so much like that night, I suppose I'll postpone the inevitable and wait just a bit longer.

Read other's Somethings for the Weekend

Kiss this

 

 And be sinful with me

The dark night

A bit darker than the norm...

The itch, it's burning inside of me. I'm restless. I'm anxious and angry. Lonely, depressed, and enraged. I'm pacing the floors of my head space, trying to get around everything.

I want you. I want you for so many reasons but tonight they are selfish. I want to fill me up with you until there is no room for these thoughts, these hateful emotions. I want you to use me. I want you to treat my body with no regard for anything except pleasure.

I want you to be rough like the tides in my head right now. I want to feel the sting of your palm and the power of your hips. I want to feel as though you have a tenuous hold on keeping me safe, like the safeties that feel so absent in my head.

As I get lost in the madness of my thoughts and the insanity of your arms I feel the shift. As pain becomes pleasure, the jumble of my thoughts become more cohesive. As I focus on your body and the heat, and the coursing of my blood I feel the calm of the stormy seas in my mind coming.

As I feel my self, my control, unraveling in your arms, it's there. The peace. The light in my night of darkness. The spark of sanity amidst all of that madness. I lay in your arms, sweaty, tired, satiated. Protected at last from the things I cannot control.

You are desire. You are love, soothing, lust. You are my anchor and my drug. You are home.

Wretch

I knew he couldn't come and it was killing me.

"I know, I'm a wretch," the silly little pet name we have for him.

"It's not your fault, and you're MY wretch," my usual rejoinder.

It feels like I never get to see him. I KNOW I never get enough of him. That afternoon, a day before Valentines Day, the doorbell rings. I'm handed a package and it's the most beautiful chocolate covered strawberries, with a card that said simply: "Wretch".

He is so good at this, somehow making me feel better when I am becoming so despondent. I am very good at twisting the screw, making him miss me more in the hopes he'll find more time... I reach for my red lipstick and my camera. It's time to show my appreciation.

As always he loves the photos. He loves me, and even my bratty screw twisting. The day goes on, colorless without him or the hope of seeing him. It's starting to sink in, maybe not at all this week.
I go out with the girls, try to find some cheer in a glass of vodka and a random flirt. Still colorless, but now I've bought myself a headache for the morning.

It's 1:30 in the morning. I get a text. No one texts me this late.

"I don't suppose you'd be wroth with me if I came over, would you? Go hop in the bath like a good girl."

It's him. This is how he got called a wretch in the first place. The man allows me to fall almost to the bottom just to catch me, to get the adrenaline up, to make me feel the heights he brings me to that much more keenly.

I hurriedly hop in the bath and figure I have about 30 minutes to get pretty, the bath only takes up 5. Turns out he encouraged me to my usual routine of a bath beforehand so I wouldn't hear the door (he'd come sweaty, straight from the gym). As I walk into my bedroom he is there, the key I had given him being used for once.

I'm ready to cry in joy as I leap into my lover's arms, more intoxicated by him than by the alcohol still coursing in my veins. I grab his precious face and stare into his deep eyes and am once again astounded by the depth of feeling I have for this man, this wretch.

My hands fumble, grasping, tearing to get his clothes off. My towel has been long since discarded. My exuberance, made more intense yet less focused by the imbibing I've done that evening, is boundless. I cannot wait to touch, to taste every inch of him. To have him in my mouth, on my body, I'm already going mad with want.

His desires to be gentle or rough, fast or slow, lay in waste at the force of my insistence. There is no stopping. My passion and haste are catching and that wretch, that incredible man who has brought me to this sense of urgency and desperation, is more than capable of matching me and keeping up.

The flick of his tongue on my skin sends me reeling. The smell of him, of our sex fills me and delights me. I ride him with the skill of a courtesan, and the enthusiasm of Siren leading sailors to their doom. To feel him driving inside of me, to stare into his eyes and reach orgasm again and again, is ambrosia.

I'm sending a silent apology in my head to the neighbors as I cannot control the writhing, moaning pleasure I am immersed in. His name tears from my throat and it is a benediction, a cleansing, a cry of love and lust and need. We toss each other around the bed as in a stormy sea and cannot contain the power in the explosion between us. I tighten around him once more in bliss and he fills me with his own climax.

Sated, sweaty, unable to catch our breaths, we are found. We are whole once more and have found deliverance in each other's embrace. Passions cooling, he holds me in his arms and I am home.
He places a kiss upon my brow and squeezes me in surety. As I drift into slumber cradled on his chest, he brushes a stray strand of hair from my cheek as he softly wishes me a happy Valentines Day...

The mumbled reply: "You wretch".

 

Wicked Wednesday 

TMI Tuesday

1. I’m the type of person that likes to be adventurous, dare I say, even entertained, in bed.

2. If the sexiest person I know propositioned me for sex, I would say yes and try not to stare the whole time .

3. The worst part about summer when I am naked is as hot as we get together, we are as cooled down as it's going to get .

4. I regret my first year pushing you away and trying to get you to sleep around .

5. The last sexual/kinky thing I expected to like was the imprint of your hand on my ass .

6. Recently, I exhausted someone.

Bonus: You have been kidnapped by lesbians and dragged into a lesbian orgy, what are you going to do?

Hope it goes as well as I expected, and remember all the wonderful details to tell you about later.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Lucky

"How lucky I am to have something that makes it so hard to say goodbye."
-Annie (the movie)

When I think Valentine's Day, I think of how many of them I've spent alone. It isn't a romantic thought, but there is nothing quite so difficult as to see so many happy couples and wonder if your partner is safe halfway across the world. While others take their lovers to bed, I go to bed with something of his, and a laptop and phone - just in case he calls. But how lucky am I that he is something worth longing for, loving, loyal to his country, and a commitment to protect it despite the costs?

See who's Sinful with me.

Elust #43

Photo courtesy of Beck and Her Kinks

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #44? Start with the newly updated rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
P.S. Thank you for your patience while we find our way around here at e[lust] if we have made any mistakes (and surely we have) we will do our best to get it right the next time around.
~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~
misconceptions of dating polyamorous women
Compromise in D/s relationships
Writing Challenge - The Journey
~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~
To shave or not to shave?
Of Human and Whore
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Non-Monogamy and Sex Toys – Safe Sharing Tips
A Man's Case for Being an Asshole
Thyroid function and sexuality
Property Renewal
SilverHubby: "On Being Fucked by You"
Pain In My Ass
Chivalry
Think Different
Open vs Poly
Escaping the Individual
To shave or not to shave?
Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Is your sex toy review breaking the law?
Kink & Fetish
Good Boy
Breathe
Erotic Writing
Take me in
Downpour
A Naughty Nurse Setup!
Afternoon Delight
Sexy Single
Tender is the Night
Butch on Butch
A change of plan
Anal: The Final Frontier
When He Comes In My Mouth
Morning Surprise
Winter
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part One
Simple
My dirty fantasy
Pleasure
The Peace of Wild Things
Camping Conquests
Collar & Lead
Eat Me
Shhh! Come Here!
The End of The World - Almost
Restraints For A Good Girl
Of Human and Whore
Silver Fox, Mynx, and the Hunter – Part VI: Take Two
A Story For Sir

Climax

Oh God, this is it. Its so close I can taste it in my mouth. My heart is beating as fast as butterfly wings... My knees are shaking and I can't catch my breath. I stare into your liquid eyes and revel in the fact that you can do this to my body.
Tremors. One, two... Quake through my limbs and I know I'm almost ready, I can feel it. I want to hold back but I can't. You never let me hold back, you always make me want to push on; onto the ledge and then over it.
Pulse pounding faster now, its a run away train and I am merely on the tracks. A moment, stillness. Suspended in that brief time there is death, then new life.
The sudden release. The buildup melts to deliverance as I say your name. The rush of endorphins
then blissful calm  as I know, I can let go...
"I love you"

Breaking Walls

Your breath washed over my sensitive skin, washed away my reservations.

We had only talked before, for years, and agreed to go hiking. We met in the middle, went in for a hotel room together to save money, two separate beds. It was a long day of hiking, exhaustion but appreciation for the other's company. We both looked ragged and dirty and sweaty, I certainly didn't look beautiful or put together. A quick shower, a quick dinner, and then back to the hotel.

Drinking with the sleeping sun, joking as close friends do, settling down and laying side by side as we talked. I had no thoughts of you sexually; you were incrediby handsome and I was very attracted, but we had just gotten out of long, very serious relationships. We were both hurt, we both didn't want to get involved. And you were out of my league: younger, more active, innocent, nice, far away and the possibility to vanish at any moment.

You leaned in close, swept my hair aside, and just breathed. My neck betrayed the erotic pulse beat beneath the exposed skin. Bold suddenly, unlike yourself, you leaned in and lips grazed the pulse, tongue gently, tentatively dipped and tasted. My ears tuned into your breathing, blocked out all other noise, and all my nerve endings came from where you kissed.

The fact that you felt compelled to make any move at all, especially the first move, surprised us both. I was out of your league: older, jaded, educated, coasting with a great career, settled, a sexual experience you looked down upon once. I had told you over the phone, weeks in advance to this plan, that it wouldn't go anywhere, to have no expectations of intimacy. Suddenly you were eager for the experience, or the woman that you've grown to know beyond your own previous judgments.

I moaned and leaned into your mouth, let it melt and meld my inhibitions. One night, I thought, surely I can have one night just in your arms. But even so, I didn't want to hurt you. You, with your inexperience, would get emotionally attached. I refused to become emotionally invested beyond friendship, and perhaps fuck buddy for one night suddenly. I was hurt so badly before - I wanted nothing of that kind; so a boundary was in order.

Maybe it was the liquid stupidity talking, but I muttered how my pajama bottoms were not coming off, no matter what, and you agreed, or tried to before I moved and pressed my lips to yours, silencing your innocence and my hesitation. My tongue became the agressor, plundered in your mouth, drank your resilience. My hands pulled you in, my legs wrapped around, closing any division between us. You seemed surprised, uncertain how to proceed, frozen but so hot.

My goodness you were sexy, your inculpable barrier no longer a divide. Your fingers tentatively wandered, as my lips began to move lower to your neck. You still seemed confused on what to do, what was acceptable to touch, but I was unaware of your shortcomings, only knowing that I had given myself permission to cave into my passion - to a point. How I blundered and confused  a sexual limit with not being hurt was a muddled, ridiculous thought. I just knew that you were inexperienced by choice.

...And by the time I was aware of your voyaging, it was because of what you were doing to me, focused to propel an action that you hadn't before, astonishing us both with the passionate responses and actively choosing to test our boundaries: mine - a physical limit, yours - an internal battle of limitations. You pursued suddenly. You had taken my lead, a quick trainee, and run with it in a direction that was intoxicating and no longer allowed thoughts...or barriers.

It was torturous, deprived, ardent hours of arousal, and my chastity belt of those damnable pj bottoms was drenched with my needy wanton desires, your erection so hard that the thin layer of clothing hardly felt there at times...until it wasn't. But that is a story for another time, this was the reflection of our transgressions, breaking confining walls and ideas, reaching out for the unattainable, and wicked wanderings.

Come see who else is wicked with me.

Btw, a picture of my "chastity belt". I can think of the pj bottoms no other way.

Switch

I'm a bit on the sub side of life. I play light with masochism. I enjoy being called a dirty slut or a stupid whore in bed. I like to feel the sting of a palm crack against my cheek or my hair being pulled with enough force to induce the watering of my eyes. I like being told what to do, when to do it. I find pleasure in begging for my release before I am allowed to let it flood my body. I want to be tossed around like a rag doll, used like a toy. Most times those lovely little bruises marring my flesh in unseen places feel like a naughty secret memory I carry on my skin. My favorite are the rope marks wrapped like lovely bracelets around my wrists, my ankles, and everywhere in between.
It's not always that I feel like this. I love the sweet and sensual too; just the frequency of those times are far fewer.
Then, there are times when I switch.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a violent need of expression, a need to control, consume, and demand. The first time I was slapped in the face during sex I was so startled, I just grew wide eyed and paused for the merest of seconds... Then I cocked back my arm, swung full force with the fingers of my hand extended. The second my hand crashed into his face I felt the instant rush of adrenaline. Heat flooded through me and I moaned my pleasure into his mouth. I knew then, exactly how it felt to be those people who Dom. It was a heady sensation.
These cravings for dominance and sadism overcome me, and there's really no accounting for why, no trigger I can discern. At the stripclub with several friends, I met a lovely young military man. He was 6'5 to my diminished stature. Almost every man towers over me but this one even more so. He had lovely eyes, a sincere smile and an innocence about him that called to me.
I wanted to hurt him. I could feel my mouth water at the thoughts running through my head at what I was going to do with this boy who was barely legal to consume alcohol. I wanted to switch. I wanted to not only release passion in a violent burst on him, but I wanted it in return.
At the end of the night I saw him outside. He couldn't find his friends so I said, "that means you're coming home with me right?" My head was tilted back so far just to meet his gaze; my chin only coming up to his navel. He looked with wonder into my eyes and nodded. I held out my hand and he grasped it firmly in his as I led him to the car, the same way I was anticipating leading him astray.
Once we arrived at my house, hands were hastily discarding clothing. Mouths were tasting, biting, teasing. He was my jungle gym and I climbed all over him like my favorite piece of equipment on the playground. After some time spent exploring and licking and tasting of each other's essence, I settled myself on top of him. I gazed sweetly into his bright eyes and asked if he'd ever had rough sex. His eyes turned fevered with desire at my question. He tried to speak, cleared his throat and replied, "no".
Suddenly I bring my hand slamming into his pretty young face, grip his chin as I say, "you have now," then kiss his lips softly, almost lovingly, before I slap him again. I look into his eager eyes and inquire if he'd like to try, tapping my cheek with a dainty finger to indicate the target. He tries but is timid, I barely feel the sting. Here is this tall, virile young man and I am a tiny tempest. I bite his nipple hard enough that I hear the quick expulsion of air from his lungs followed by a moaning gasp as I cause his body to vellicate. I dig my nails into his flesh as I ride him hard.
I instruct him to get behind me and pull my hair. I laugh at his first attempt and taunt him, "really? You're a fucking pansy, now pull it!" I'm being pugnacious, demeaning, and pushy. These taunting words are what finally snap through his meekness and I feel my head snap back on my neck from the force of his fist in my hair, and he snarls in my ear, "shut your fucking mouth, you bitch".
Ecstasy. I find my release at his brutish handling and malicious words. He explodes at the tightening of my body around him and we both sink into bliss. I continue throughout the night to introduce him to pain and pleasure, dominance and submission. I lead, I follow, I instruct. By morning I have used this man until I have wrung every drop of energy that he has.
He's eager to tell his friends, I can tell. I'm well put together and elegant when out and he keeps remarking on how he'd never dreamed the night would go as it had. His puppy-like enthusiasm is adorable, but concerning. He starts a statement with, "since I'm going to be over here a lot now...," and I'm forced to cut him off. I laugh in his face, but consolingly kiss his sweet lips as I tell him there was no guarantee he'd be invited back, and that that was very presumptuous of him. I tell him to savoir and remember the night and that perhaps, if I feel the desire again, I'll invite him back for further explorations.

Rope bunny peek

He always leaves me tied up in knots

See who is being sinful with me this Sunday 

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

 

Rebel's Notes nominated us for The Very Inspiring Blogger Award. We are very grateful and appreciative for this honor; both because we are new to the welcoming sex blogging community, and Rebel's Notes is such a prominent member - and she nominated us!

 

The Rules
1. Display the award logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. State 7 things about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them.
5. Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

Here are 7 things about us
1. We come from a short family. We barely top 5 foot (152 cm). (Okay, one of us isn't even that tall.)
2. We are four years apart in age.
3. We have lived separately now more years than we ever lived together (and a large part was across country.) This is mostly due to things like boarding school, or living on own as teenager, than age.
4. While both equally write, Married (M) is the more frequent commenter, editor, and decision-maker.
5. M used to sword fight (not fencing), mostly using a Civil War Saber; still has some scars.
6. Single (A) is a sub-sided rope bunny who likes to take pictures.
7. A is the one who most frequently gets out of comfort zones and bravely accepts the challenges from others, like Wicked Wednesday and Sinful Sunday.

Our nominees (Challenging when we read over 70 blogs.)

RebelsNotes Submissive to her husband, an exhibitionist, an inspiration with Wicked Wednesday, an encourager with comments. She strikes us as a positive and prominent member to the sex blogging community.

MollysDailyKiss She is a huge contributor and prominent member in the community as well. She has a tireless dedication and inspires (as well as posts) some sensual photos on her Sinful Sunday. She took on the commitment of elust, further proving her wonderful dedication to the community.

ACuriousMuse A variety of writing and photos. The ability to capture a simple moment and extend it to a masterpiece.

BetweenMySheets Stumbled on this blog immediately, and thank goodness. Her extensive list of top 100 bloggers led us to most of you! Not to mention she writes about her history and now exploring her submissive side with a wonderful dom, whom she can't push away.

DiaryofaKinkyLibrarian A self-identified slut, pervert, polyamorist, bisexual, submissive, feminist librarian; living in the NYC area. About sex and her adventures with her Dom, MasterDoc.

DumbDomme One of the few not on here for strictly erotica/stories, she hilariously writes about her own mistakes, adeptly finding the humor in situations. A Domme that cares and isn't indifferent to her boy.  Not to mention a "ruthless, capitalist, stripper whore".

EasilyAroused He takes pleasure from tantalising women with erotic fiction, and lovers around us are often the lucky recipients of the passion he incites.

ExploringSurrender About her and her husband. Lovers for more than a decade now, stories of exploration and submission. Not to mention great advice on how to make a flogger.

LadyPandorah In a long term, monogamous relationship with Mister, desire based in lust, love and BDSM. She's a switch, if she had to label, and a gifted writer.

LustfulLiterate In her eloquent words: To read is an act of voyeurism; to write is an act of exhibitionism... The writer watches, devours, and breathes out only the choicest words to capture what has been seen. Often, her breath catches, and she finds herself suffocating on the experience. The only way to survive is to exhale the events through her finger tips and let them go.

MrGsTreasure Smart, sexy, with no punches pulled.

RemittanceGirl While not a blogger that posts as frequently as many listed here, she believes that erotica should deal with the themes of  "how desire informs, changes and manipulates the lives of the characters who are desirous". A sensual and smart storyteller.

SirJaerls  Just recently added to the reading list, he's a gentleman sadist, Daddy, Master, BDSM erotica author. As he reports: unrelated parts of stories and poems and miscellaneous musings.

StrandedInToronto Already nominated, frequently questioned why not already published, he's an Atheist, Canadian, divorced father of daughters, who writes for kicks and hopes that he might get paid for it once in awhile.

SweetLust Poetry & prose. Intelligent and intimate, love and lust. Her poetry is complex, challenging, touches the soul, and inspires with imagery.

Inciting Outside

“I don’t feel good.” I look at you as if you said a vile thing, as if you were crazy. You said it for a purpose; it was too random to just bring up.

“Is that code for you having a headache?” I question, referencing the olden but golden reason why wives wouldn’t sleep with their husbands.  

You pause and smile. “Yes, yes, I believe that is.”

Again, my eyes pierce you with that preposterous statement. But I say nothing and wait. By the time we are ready for bed, I state casually, “you know you want to have sex with me. I’m awfully pretty and downright adorable.” I get undressed, not meeting eyes for fear of making it easier to reject me with a shake of the head.

You laugh. You knew this was coming. I don’t accept the “headache/not feeling good”. “Oh I suppose I can sex with you. You are very pretty.” Well, at least you aren’t blind. We slide under the covers, and meet in the middle of our enormous bed. We face each other, and just hold each other for a moment, enjoy the quiet stillness of the night. I scratch your back, knowing you like it, not wanting to just immediately jump you. I know I need to show you affection first; we’ve had this talk.

I smile, because I’m done and planning my attack. You’ve obviously seen this smile before, because before my hand can dip lower, your hand is wrapped around my wrist. You move my immobile hand to the arm beneath me, and press heavily into the bed where my other arm was under you, effectively trapping both.

“But babe,” I whine. “I haven’t touched you in days.”

“It’s been three, and you aren’t winning this one. We’ll see how long it is until I allow you to touch me.” You tug on my wrist and your foot pushes on my leg, rotating me to on my back. The same foot stays on my leg, nudging apart and securing it in place. Your free hand moves lower. Fingers freely penetrate or caress at your whim. I try to distract you with kisses, and move my arm and hand trying to work free. You are having none of it. When you rubbed against my clit, my intake of breath must’ve clued you. You look at me, “you must be sensitive,” and search my eyes as again you massaged my bud. I make a noise, half groan and half moan. “You aren’t often sensitive there,” your voice tells of delight, like a child receiving a new toy.

It’s true I am not often sensitive there. I’d much rather penetration than clitoral stimulation, but tonight it feels so good, and your fingers brush and knead and torture and delight before you let go of my wrist and move so quickly I’ve no time to think, and now your mouth is there. “Oh, no,” I breathe, unsure I am able to handle this much stimulation so early on. But you have a purpose and skill that I rarely call upon. I whimper, plead, buck, press. I have no idea what to do besides beg for you to be inside of me.

“You want this?” you question, moving up and between my legs as suddenly as you went down.

“Yes,” my legs wrap around your hips.

You lean forward and rub against me. “I don’t think I’m hard enough.”

I smile, “you need me to touch you is all.” I go to move my hands, but you’ve claimed them again, pinning them the bed at the wrists with your strong hands.

Again, that smile. “No,” you kiss my forehead, and I feel you at my entrance, “we’ll make do”. A tease then, because you thrust inside of me while maintaining eye contact and there is no doubt that you are hard, throbbing and stretching me. You don’t release my wrist, but still manage to rotate up to a higher position, where the tip of you slides up precariously to my entrance; the shaft pressed against my clit, and then thrusts straight down. A slight ache from the pressure and force, but I am flooded with so many sensations. And you know it, as the calculated move is repeated until I tighten and squeeze around you in my orgasm. Immediately you release my wrists and lower yourself, still resting inside of me, lovingly embracing me and giving me gentle kisses. You rub your body along my clit and murmur, “still sensitive?” I can only nod. “Good.” You pull out of me and reach to your nightstand, pulling out a black case.

“Oh hell no, I can’t,” I voice. I watch you stretch the cock ring around you. You turn on just the vibrating part and put it against my already oversensitive bud, holding it there and watching my reaction. I writhe and moan and impel. You pull back and begin to put it in the ring. I take this opportunity to reach down and stroke your straining and eager cock. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine.

And its short lived, as my hands are pulled off of you, again pinned to the bed, and you are driving yourself deeply into me. The vibrator is prominently inciting outside, and you are filling and devastating inside, and I cannot breathe or see or think. I just feel. And clench so tightly around you that you’ve no choice but to join me on this journey, your groans mixing with my screams.

Read Something for the Weekend

Pondering Positions

My lover broke his wrist over the weekend. Of course my concern was for him, but selfishly it went to our sex life. He broke his dominant side, but he's pretty handy at touching and fingering me with both. I was more concerned with what positions we were still going to do, and if he'd even be in the mood.

Oddly enough, he's demanding it every night (of course it's only been less than a week). It's almost like he has to prove he still can have sex with me (I shared my concern).

And as for the positions, we can't do missionary (or some form of). While I can rock his world on top, I can't do much for myself. Sadly, when I am on top I rely on him to grab my hips and move me once I come close to climax - when it starts to feel good I simply lose the rhythm and cannot finish without him keeping the pace I've set. A lot of other positions require him bracing himself on either forearms or hands.

The solution? Doggy style is definitely a winner, but we've also spooned, and he's been on his knees upright with me sideways as well. I love these positions, and glad we have more reason to use them. I am quite sure we'll continue experimenting and finding others that work just as well, and maybe discover some new positions we've never done or thought of before. Can't wait! Any suggestions? He cannot apply pressure on one arm at all at this point, keep in mind.

My lead

"Come here."

I move to place myself in front of him. Proud and naked, ready to obey his will. He places the rope around my neck and tells me it looks lovely, I wear it well.

This isn't the first time he has tied me up. But it is it is the first time he's laid me out and composed my body in such a way that I cannot move myself. Helpless.

He teases me, caresses me. Brings his beautiful cock within inches of my eager mouth just to tsk me for moving towards it, then he moves it away. Admonishing me for being greedy.

"The thing about you is, you like to touch. I think it is a far greater deprivation to take that away from you then to withhold caressing you."

He's right. He knows me. I'm strong and proud and independent. However, one of my biggest weaknesses is my love of tactile sensory input. To feel his smooth skin under my finger tips, to kiss and caress him. These are the things I crave.

Today I find it hard to find zen. To obtain that place of bliss and quiet in my head. My subspace. I feel each strike, I jump nervously at small caresses. I'm not being very good.

"You don't want my gifts? Why aren't you receiving my gifts?"

I try but no words are forthcoming. I don't know what has thrown me off. Everything is so intense, so deep. I love every part of everything this man does to me, but today I'm making him think that I doubt.

With a sigh he gives me fulfillment, he slides into my depth and it's like fireworks going off in my body. The position of my head and my shoulders is such that my position feels precarious. There's a massive dresser just beyond my bed and with my wrists tied to my ankles, severe injury would occur if I went over.

I ask if we can scoot up, I can feel myself sliding closer with each powerful thrust of his hips. He drives on, harder now, knowing of my fear.

"Trust me," he says.

I swallow, I try.

"Trust me."

My eyes sting with the burn of tears and one delicate stream runs out of each eye.

He looms close to my face with a stare so intense it bores into my soul.

"I will always keep you safe, I will NEVER let you get hurt. Trust me."

The tears are coursing down my cheeks now, but I do. I trust him with everything that I am and I know that he will do as he says. He knows about my horrible anxieties and that this is the ultimate surrender to him.

He is merciful. After I acquiesce, he moves me from the edge. He kisses my tears, salty on his lips. He cuddles me and caresses me and lets me know I am safe.

I've learned a lesson I already knew in the back of my head. He will always keep me safe. To him I am precious and something of great value to be cared for and loved. All that is required of me is to let go, to trust, to allow him to lead. I found my space that day, my subspace. The warm pleasant glow after play stayed with me, warming my soul. All because I was willing to follow, over the edge even if need be, safe in my lovers embrace.

Find out who is being wicked with me this Wednesday.
Follow me to...

TMI: I love my bed

1. When you bought your bed frame, did you evaluate it in terms of ropes, handcuffs, etc?
Oh yes, my bed is a solid wood California King, with huge bed posts, headboard, and even a steel frame going across the top, connecting the top of the bed posts. It's a delightful play ground.

2. Aside from beds, was sex ever a major consideration in choosing a piece of furniture?
Besides the couch being easy to clean? Not really. To be perfectly honest, after having a bed like mine, I don't wish to have sex anywhere else at home.

3. Have you ever had anyone else (friend, mom) say a piece of your furniture was inappropriate because it was clearly for sexual purposes?
Yep, anyone who's ever seen my bed, and knows my personality, know exactly why I purchased it.

4. Do you have a piece of furniture that has a stain caused by bodily fluids (baby vomit not included)?
No, not furniture. Clothes on the other hand...

5. Do you have anything in your beside table you wouldn’t want your father or mother to know about?
A ton, but not necessarily away from parents. More like kids shouldn't know what's in the black satin case (Lelo), hiding the naughty titles of some steamy bedside reading. And on his side is a whole collection of toys and books (his side isn't closest to the door, and almost never visited, even by kids, oddly enough. Downside, or upside, to being close to a wall.

6. Do you own any exercise equipment that is useful for sex?
Not really, yoga bands might be handy for holding sexual poses, but I haven't considered it. My yoga belt is awesome for tying if we aren't in the bedroom where the other ties are.

7. Aside from your bedroom, what room do you have sex in most often?
Room with the large couch. Or, honestly, it may be a tie or in the kitchen. I can't help but pounce on him when he's doing dishes.

8. Do you have any electronics (TV, stereo) etc in your bedroom that are on during sex?
Stereo, always, due to noise pollution. Even if kids aren't around, we're so used to it by now, that we use it.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Video killed the radio star

Men have always sent me penis pictures. I don't know why. I've recently started receiving video however, and that is FAR more interesting to me.
I NEVER request the penis pictures in the first place, they just send them. It's like:
"good morning"
"good morning"
"How are you? Here is my penis."
The first time a man sent me a video of him masturbating, I was shocked. That lasted all of about half of a second before I was incredibly turned on.
I love watching a man masturbate. There's something so erotic and here it was, in my hands! A man I (kind of) knew in all his delicious glory, right there on my phone. It made my mouth water.
I never thought to request something like that! Why had all these men in my life previously been slacking off!? The possibilities now were almost endless.
The next man to send me a fully nude photo got the request put to him. Imagine my surprise when he said no...
Dude, you just sent me a picture of your hard penis, WITH YOUR FACE IN IT. I just want a POV masturbation clip. They only last like 15 seconds, and your face isn't in it.
Where is there any logic in that? So, I figured man A wasn't very bright, let's move on to the next one. However, I encountered the same problem. Now, I have a LOT of options of men to ask this of. It's the digital age and I live in a very densely populated military town. There are tons of men lining up to send me their penis. Is it too much to ask for that penis to be in action?
I've decided I'm going to start telling them I either get an action sequence or I don't want it at all. I might never have to go root out porn again! I'm definitely going to have to get a bigger memory card, and these men better start warming up their forearms, because momma wants to see some jacking off!

Satin and lace

A delicious combination.

 

Sinful Sunday 

For Our Sake Touch Me

I am cold, a distant land, beyond your reach.
You know that to touch me is to melt me
But you asked...And I am not in the mood to acquiesce

You know that to touch me

My simmering red hot anger will cool
And yet you hesitate...And I am not in the mood to welcome

You know the solution is you.

Why do you not touch me?
Your fingers, mouth, skin, cock, make misery a memory.

I want you to fuck me senseless.

You know and yet don't touch me.
Bite my breasts, caress my clit, pummel my pussy.

Even in anger, I always want you.

Grab my hair, pull me towards you,
Take me roughly, for our sake touch me.

You've only touched me

Once, when we feel this way
All was instantly forgotten, hostilities halted

Why do you accept my denial?
Take my words, drown my mouth
With tongue and cock, both need to touch me

This time words of love are not enough
Reserved, courteous, gentleman
...And I am in the mood to be taken, fucking touch me

And yet you asked, accepted, agitated,

I want nothing more than to forget
In pleasure, in pain, inside you need to touch me.