I like taking pictures.... a lot. And I've found myself thinking when I get compliments "That's not really me though, that's Dress Up A"... Sometimes, I'm in PJs, a bathrobe, a bun and no makeup. I definitely don't feel sexy day in and day out.
I find that to be a load of crock and something I needed to correct. I've decided to start being REAL sexy on top of the posed type.
She leaned over, rested her chin on her hand propped up on
the table, hair cascading to the side, and winked. He cocked his head to the
side, unsure what the wink was for.
After all…he was winning.
The city lights shined brightly in sharp contrast to the night
sky, just as her nudity contrasted his evening attire. They were both in a
suite, sipping champagne, seated at a table playing chess; but he was fully
dressed, even wearing his shoes, and she was kneeling on the chair, naked,
nipples almost grazing the table. Clearly, they were on unequal ground. He was
aloof, clothed in the uppermost formal shield; she was exposed, vulnerable.
Still, a small smile, one corner turned up slightly more in
a crooked smugness, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at the chess board.
He was puzzled by her reaction.
She couldn’t believe her position. When she normally took
jobs, it wasn’t to sit naked and play chess, though she was sure he would have
other, more wanton requests. But chess? And then what? Checkers, moving to
cards, moving to naked Twister? Or was he too refined for that?
He would want his monies worth, of that she was sure, was
just unsure what that entailed for this client. And yet he sat across from her,
gazing intently at her, equally focused on the beautiful board between them,
and gave an impression of superiority. Little
did he know her stratagem.
She leaned back, pretended concern, and moved. His eyes had
drifted to her hands, watched as she gracefully manipulated a small figurine. Her
hair shifted slightly to cover one small but perfect breast, the other breast
revealing a hardened nipple. She studied the board; he studied her.
But pride would not let him be distracted by her beauty. He
moved a piece, and his eyes widened with disbelief when she reached across the
board suddenly, and moved to checkmate. She clapped in delight, still leaned
over the table, eyes on the winning board; he stared at her, eyes darkening and
broadening, leaning back.
She looked up, a smile on her gorgeous face, and saw his
expression. Smile vanished. “Would you like to play another game? We have all
night,” she offered as reparation.
He casually swiped the pieces onto the floor. “Let’s play
the game you were meant to play,” he said, his voice gruff with intent, and
passion. He moved next to her, stepping on her dress. She seemed concerned, and
he felt his manhood harden. He felt powerful with her unease, and grabbed her
hair, ignoring her mewling sound, pulling her off the chair. She fell, not able
to get her legs out to catch her descent, and tears were brought to her eyes
with violent tugging of her hair.
She made a sound: half whimper, half plea, and situated
herself to her knees. She tentatively reached up and unzipped his pants,
adjusting his sex through his boxers, and wrapped her lips around his shaft.
His hand still in her hair, he moved his other hand to grip
behind and slightly to the side, and thrusted in, until he felt his tip hit the
back of her throat, until he heard her gag and almost retch, and watched as
tears formed in her eyes.
He chuckled, murmured as he stroked the side of her face, “I
think you are losing,” as he watched her continue stroking his cock with her
mouth, eager to please, cautious in case he forced her too far again.
She moved rhythmically, glancing up often to gauge his
reaction, trying to bring him to pleasure quickly. She felt him tense, throw
back his head, and knew he was going to cum. Her fingertips scanned ever so
slightly, delved inside, and gripped. She swiftly pushed away when she felt
fluid pumping into his base, cum splattering onto her breasts as she rose up,
slashing with the knife she gripped across his throat, blood mixing with his
cum on her porcelain skin, watched as he now kneeled, hands going to reach his
throat, but not making it before dropping with his body onto the floor.
She was dismayed that he bled on her dress and she didn’t
have another. She also felt like gloating, stepping barefoot over him, saying, “*wars
and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations
come too late.”
*Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, an excellent perspective on mythology, and one of my favorite books. My absolute favorite quote of all time.
Now, this is over 700 words slightly, which I've never gone over. At first I added more fluff because for FFF this is a lot of words allotted this week, and I am not used to it for these prompts. Then the story grew, and I had to trim, but I liked my fluff at the beginning, and couldn't stand cutting out anymore. So it remains. I'd get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, but I can't guarantee what I'll do after that, so let's just call it even, shall we?
After reading Girl on the Net, I decided to take the complicated challenge of describing my orgasm. They have some differences, which I tried to address as they occurred, but for the most part, they follow this pattern:
It starts with pressure inside of me, a pressure of fiction, an awareness of movement in and out of me.
Then I begin to tighten into the pressure. I can do this at whim, but more often than not, it just happens. When I am short on time, know this is a quickie, or am tired, I can tighten, making me come closer to the sensation faster. When I want a slow buildup, I just allow it to naturally happen, enjoy the other sensations besides the focusing on clamping down into it.
But my orgasm gets going when I tighten around whatever is inside of me, increasing the pressure, not a consistent tighten, more like a gripping and releasing of muscles(my lover will feel this). My body grows taunt due to this tightening. I begin breathing heavier. My mind empties of thoughts. In and out, pressure on certain places, like the g-spot, deep inside, at my entrance; or held pressure in one spot that is almost so overwhelming I want it slid against rather than held against.
All my thoughts, all my concentration, is on my muscles, on feeling the pressure build, of the gripping and releasing. I feel drawn, almost leaning my body into my groin. My stomach clenches down, my whole body becomes tense. The clenching around becomes more intense, the coming and going of pleasure building, the waves of pleasure building higher and higher, crashing faster and faster.
It is not a letting go, unless of cohesive thoughts. It is an absolute building of pressure that is pleasant nerve endings being vibrated, thronged deeper and longer, spreading from inside my crotch, my lower belly, gripping tightly, spreading suddenly as if heat of a wildfire, moving up my torso and down my thighs at the same time, making me catch my breath, rending my limbs tense and immobile trying to clutch at anything (my toes may curl painfully at this point of clutching), my breath catching (sometimes too long), my head spinning, my thoughts completely blacking out. It is a force burning throughout my entire body, clutching it so tightly, making it rigid, flushing out even to my skin. An awareness of every muscle, a pressure so hard in my core – it is pleasure so focused, a tingling sensation that doesn’t lower or stop.
It is quick, but it leaves me weak with its force. The tingling begins to actually represent tingling, with the skin overly sensitive, my limbs tremble, I remember to breathe, my head is still slowly spinning, my thoughts seem so distant, as if I am far away from my body, amazed at the power of my orgasm. My body is aware of how tense it is, my sex completely lets go of what is inside of me – as if taking a deep breath and releasing it, my body and limbs heavy, my chest heaving from erratic breathing, my throat raw either from screaming with the force (which allows a deeper orgasm) or from the effort in suppressing any noise (a weaker orgasm as it requires me to focus on a place other than my pleasure).
I feel like I am sinking, my thoughts lazily floating back into my head, my body relaxing after its fierce control. I become aware of my lover again; or toy or fingers are removed. If my breathing was held, I may see black spots blurring my vision. My head may hurt, a throbbing headache, if I held my breath. This is the point where I become aware of my toes if they curled, as I try to painfully stretch them. My fingertips may have been too clenched into my lover’s skin, and just now feel the muscles protesting. I may become aware of the sting of raw skin that I scratched in my clenching (I will sometimes clamp nails into my thighs or calves if I am holding them up). My stomach may be sore, feeling as if I did too many crunches or sit ups. My heart hammers inside my ribcage, thunders in my ear.
If is a strong orgasm, regardless of movement inside of me, I may still feel my muscles clenching inside still, gripping and releasing, shuddering, giving lapses of pleasure still, echoing throughout my body but not causing that tenseness, just a brief flutter of pleasant nerves being surged through, slowly until they dwindle to nothing. I call them aftershocks (as they mimic an earthquake’s to me). Or if movement/stimulation is still there, the clenching follows the pattern of movement, gripping inside of me, releasing, quicker than the first time, with more intensity, until I clench around it tightly, my body reacting far quicker, the wave of pleasure rising far higher and crashing more violently than the first time, and another orgasm grips me.
A following orgasm; feeling just like the first, but more intense, spasms rippling through me. I become dizzy far easier, and more likely to hold my breath. Control over my noises is less likely after the first orgasm. I am less in control of it happening or the speed in which it happens.
I am capable of multiple orgasms. I have not tested nor counted how many I can achieve in one session, though I am sure the number is more than five that I have accomplished. It leaves me weary, shaken, depleted, incapable of sound thinking, my nerve endings so sensitive to touch of different textures. I am aware of the softness of sheets, the sheen on my skin, the air flowing across, the crispness of a sting of a spank of my ass, the burning of any skin been marked too roughly, the imprint of where pressure used to be, the chill and the heat of objects around me.
I am easier to get to orgasm from touches other than penetration, as my muscles inside my sex are far easier to tighten and clench, and need nothing to clench around to begin that cycle of spreading pleasure. If I orgasm from clitoral stimulation, it begins in my clit, sliding, the pressure dances in time to my sex, pumping the pressure of pleasure from groin outward again. If I orgasm from my nipples, they are often pinched hard, the pinching becomes a focused pain of pleasure, it travels and tugs to my groin, which clenches tight down echoing the pressure on my nipples, so tight that my body comes again.
She found herself standing in a dark room alone, silence except for the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning from a large window. She fumbled for the tornado radio on a table, next to the front door, hitting her knee in her effort and dropping something before feeling the radio, and turned it on. The radio crackled out a thunderstorm warning for the following counties, hers being one of them.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Just recently, a neighboring county had been hit by a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction. She was glad that it wasn’t a tornado warning. And she cursed that she became so consumed in her work that it was now dark, and for all she knew, she was alone in the building.
She wondered where a flashlight could be located, and reached into her purse, removing her phone. Turning it on, she used the feeble light to move in between the cubicles towards a large window, stumbling slightly from time to time. Through the window, the rain slashed and splattered down, and the lightning exposed the tips of the trees swaying violently, the moon completely hidden above the storm.
Not just the darkness confused her, but she still felt as though she were in that book that she was translating. The book she simply struggled to render appropriately, as the words mesmerized her with their dark erotic fantasies. She had always felt superior translating, this book left her humble and hoping she eloquently did it justice; it provoked a physical reaction that still left her wanting.
Halfway to the large window, a flashlight’s beam shone directly in her eyes, blinding her. She stopped abruptly, squinting. A man’s voice stated with some surprise, “Ah, Jen, I had thought you had left with everyone else.” His accent thick, making him distinguishable even blind, Jen was glad she wasn’t alone in this frightening storm. He lowered the flashlight, but she still couldn’t see anything. Too bad, she thought, he was gorgeous to look at. Recently joining her department, she and other women would cast stolen glances at him when he was near.
“I lost track of time, I guess.” She shrugged. Spots of lights still flashed before her eyes, but she could see his form silhouetted in front of the window. She noticed that the beam of light was pointed downwards, at a spot between them in the carpet. The light moved forward, towards her, and she looked up to see him closing the distance between them. She smelled his cologne when he was close enough to grasp her upper arm, and she felt like leaning into his smell, becoming enveloped in his scent that it became her own.
“Are you alright?” the lightning exposed his smile, he was so close that his words were felt on her forehead. She shook her head a little, blaming her current thoughts and predicament on the book she was working on. Of course, there could be worse things than being stuck in a storm with a hot man. He mistook her shake, and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his hard chest through his suit. “It’s okay, the storm will pass over us soon,” he murmured, rubbing her upper back. She found herself putting her arms around him, holding him tightly. His heat seemed to cocoon her, and she felt so hot all the sudden she was afraid of perspiring. At least she could blame it on the storm, and his assumption that she was terrified.
“I’m okay,” her voice came out muffled from his suit jacket; she felt oddly calm at the soothing strokes of his hand on her back, the other arm still holding her tightly to him. The hand moved a little lower, to her lower back, and the circles would sometimes reach the top of her ass. She was sure that wasn’t intentional, and decided to not protest it.
Still holding her but allowing more room between them, he looked down at her face. “So lovely, Jen, even in shadows and darkness.” She was surprised at the words, but more surprised when his face could be vaguely seen lowering, lips came down to meet hers, his hand now firmly on her ass, pushing her towards him again. She found herself kissing him back, his tongue melding with her own, the taste of him unique. “So hot,” he leaned back and murmured, and she briefly felt his hardness against her through the layers of clothes. The hand caressing her butt gripped tighter, the arm supporting her shoulders was suddenly used to turn her around so fast that she was shocked, letting out a little cry, tripping over her own feet and grabbing in the dark a nearby desk. The arm snaked over her shoulder, pulling her up and against him, the other hand lifted up her heavy mass of hair, and she heard him whisper something in his native language, so soft she wasn’t sure what it was, as his mouth came down upon her neck. She felt goose bumps along her skin, and her body tremored slightly.
She hazily wondered what she was doing, alone in a storm with a near stranger that apparently didn’t ask for permission to approach her sexually. She debated briefly if she would tell him to stop, or do something, but his other hand slowly started unbuttoning her blouse, the palm grazing the newly exposed skin as he unhurriedly went down the row. His mouth moved to the side, the hand still gently lifting the hair up to give him full access. She moaned, and decided that she would see where this would take her. She could always tell him to stop later.
Fingers deftly made their way into her bra, fingertips caressing nipple tip to a hardened point before tugging slightly. He lips and tongue so warm sliding along her jawline, she turned her head to be able to kiss him. He dropped her hair as his mouth seared against hers, his tongue probing and asking of her own passion. Suddenly, he pinched her nipple hard at the same time as he trapped all her hair in his grasp and pulled her head back, away from the kiss. “I wonder if you are ready, lovely,” he questioned to her ear, still holding her head back as the fingers moved from nipple down, pulling up her skirt so quickly and moving aside her panties that she didn’t even think to protest.
She almost felt panicked at his aggression, unused to it, unsure of him, but a finger stroked against her clit, sliding easily along her slickened lips to penetrate her sex. She gasped, and he inserted two fingers. His mouth again moved to the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, as his fingers moved quickly in and out of her. “So ready for me,” he said.
Yes, she thought, you and the book of words have me mesmerized in fantasy. She felt herself soaking his fingers, tightening around them, and began panting. He withdrew them right before she could clench around them in orgasm. He grabbed her hip, the hand in her hair now between her shoulder blades pushing, bending her. Her hands out, they felt the impact of the steady desk, and she laughed, curious if he even cared if she had smashed into it face first. Her skirt was hiked up above her hips, her underwear yanked down, and his mouth moved upon her clit. He pushed her legs further apart, and in her frustration to have him down there, she untangled her high heel from one side of the undergarment, leaving it like an anklet around the other. The tongue darted against her nub, once, twice; sighing, she felt him sucking on it. She shifted slightly, bending more fully over the desk, pushing papers out of her way. The thundered boomed, the lightning flashed, and she prayed the electricity stayed off and not waken her to reality.
His mouth moved back, his tongue fucked her, his lips pulling at her lips. She moaned and pushed against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, before he moved, the fingers seeking where his mouth had been, his mouth moving up to licking her anus. The fingers sunk in deeply, curling, fucking her to an orgasm that she screamed more voraciously than the violent storm outside.
“Ready for me?” he panted, moving up to stand behind.
It took her a hazy moment to realize he had actually asked her a question. She heard his clothing shifting. “Oh yes,” she stammered, backing up slightly, bumping into his shadowy form. He chuckled, grabbed her hip with one hand, guided himself to her with the other, before both hands were on the sides of her hips, and he was moving them back and forth, pulling her upon him as he pushed, and roughly taking her to another orgasm, slowly the tempo slightly. She became briefly aware of the rain still pounding down to the earth, very aware of him still filling her deeply, and then thrusting fast again, competing with the speed of the rain, until they both shuddered and groaned.
He stepped back, smoothed down her skirt. He began reassembling his clothes before she even moved to stand up again, feeling wobbly, using the desk for support. She decided to lean against it, and turned, still just seeing him vaguely. She struggled to pull up her panties in the same amount of time that he dressed.
A dream lover, she mused. “My tempest,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his accent thicker from their passion. The thundered rolled, but it seemed so far away to her, a relaxing soothing background sound. “You were lovely,” he leaned down and picked up the flashlight, shining it again at the floor.
“What now?” she breathlessly asked. He put an arm around her shoulder, and steered her towards the front door.
“Shall we get you to your car?” He handed her the purse she had dropped, grabbed an umbrella in the doorway, and continued to move her into the rain. As they stepped outside, the umbrella snapped open, lightning flashed, and the lights behind them were suddenly on again. They laughed as they walked away; she was grateful it was still dark outside. She wanted him to continue being a mysterious dream lover. Tomorrow back at work would be soon enough for her to cast furtive glances of longing or askance at him, translating his mood more than her current book project, amid the papers, chatter, clicking of keyboards, and clear vision.
June is Adult Sex Ed Month (twitter: #AdultSexEdMonth). The movement was started by blogger @GoodDirtyWoman on twitter. Please read more here: http://agoodwomansdirtymind.com/june-is-adultsexedmonth/
This week’s TMI Tuesday questions were inspired by Sex-Ed writer Jon Pressick and his #dailysexdiscussion that happens on twitter.
1. Have you ever investigated having an open relationship? - Have you tried to have an open relationship? I've not investigated having an open relationship, but I have been in several. They have worked wonderfully well for me.
2. Do you have any sexual phobias? - What have you done to manage or overcome them? I did not until a few years when I squirted for the first time, and he sniffed it, thinking I pissed the bed. That gave me a fear that I did, or would. And a resentment towards this man. I don't like squirting for that reason, but my lover can make me do it effortlessly regardless. It would be helpful if I knew if he even liked this aspect, as I have to assume he does considering he makes me do it quite frequently. However, even though I've asked, he's been vague. I don't like squirting: I don't see it as sexy, it does give me my first and only sexual concern, and it's very messy wet. I have done nothing to overcome this issue, besides issuing a no-sniffing rule.
3. What is the best new sexual activity you have tried in 2013? Spanking, or wax. I like them both, but I'm trying to figure out to what varying degrees. I don't always like them, so it's still a learning curve for me.
4. Have you ever called into a sex advice radio/television show or written to a sex advice columnist? - Was it helpful? No, I haven't, so I've no idea if it's helpful.
5. Would you use the services of a sex therapist? Why or why not? Yes, I have seen a sex addiction therapist, who informed me that I am a nympho, not an addict. I was told that I was an addict by another therapist, but the specialist laughed at that. I will not sleep with anyone, I don't endanger my job or family or finances for it, and I am selective with who I sleep with. Just because I always think about sex and enjoy it does not mean that I have to have it, despite the cost. It was comforting, especially considering the first therapist made me feel ashamed of my thoughts.
6. Should sex therapists be allowed to engage in actual sexual activities with clients? Why or why not? I have no idea, and I would not want to cast an overall judgment on an individualized case.
I highly recommend watching the movie “The Sessions” based on a true story of how a sex therapist helped a disabled man live a full, rich life that included sex. Movie trailer: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1866249/ Bonus: Have you read any adult sex ed books lately? What do you recommend? I have not on sex ed., unless we're counting Mating in Captivity by Perel. I am drafting several reviews and my own reflections on that book which deals with erotic intelligence and keeping desire in long term relationships. I am currently reading Story of O, which was considered a break through piece of literature on BDSM in the 1950s. It is not on education. I'm a third of the way into it, and should have it finished in a day, considering I started it late last night. Thus far, it is not as psychologically delving as I would hope. For a true mind darkening exploration experience on BDSM, I'd recommend (Anne Rice wrote it under a pseudonym) The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty series.
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!
Finally! I was in charge and planned on reveling in the fact that it was my turn to dish out the punishment. There was so much to do, I didn't know where to start.
My lover was teacher despite relinquishing control, and he showed me many ways to torture and tease him. He taught me how to tie him, to use my nails and my teeth to hurt him, and them he handed me the remote.
We had an electric stimulation cock set, and I had the juice. There were two parts to the unit, the shock could be sent through the cock cage, or used in the handheld part to deliver a delicious shock of electricity all over the body.
I started out light and teasing. If you turn the controls away, he has no way of seeing if the power was flowing to his gorgeously erect dick, or his sensitive inner thigh where I held the other part.
I giggled, I coo'd, I taunted. I loved having him at my mercy, although I missed having him in my mouth. He sassed back at me so I turned up the intensity and sent a thrill of sensation to his cock for being a bad boy. I was in my element.
The heat in his eyes matched the wet heat growing within me and the heady sensation of power merely spurned me on. I knew he was enjoy it. My VERY dominate lover also enjoyed cock and ball torture and I was endeavoring to give him his moneys worth.
I loved how we played. First the wise teacher, now the sensual victim of my sadistic pleasure. I increased my taunts, the frequency of the sting, bringing him higher. Although this was my first time with the device I was doing a pretty good job.
That's when my finger slipped on accident and I didn't realize it. A playful smile turned up my lips as I prepared to give him a bit more than I had before.
"tsk tsk, lover, remember, WHO is in control right now?"
I flipped the switch and power went rushing through the lines straight down to that precious instrument I loved so much and planned on having inside of me within a moment's time.
The breath stole from his lungs as his entire body tightened in convulsion. Unbeknownst to me the power was accidentally as high as it could go and I sent all of that power straight into the most sensitive part of my lover. I was so startled I fumbled with the controls and he was only tortured longer.
My poor Wretch. While he enjoyed the exquisite pain he could experience through rough play, he wasn't quite prepared for what I had dished out. Suffice to say I paid the price that night as well.
After what I had done there wasn't much hope of further play, so I wasn't surprised, although definitely sad, that the night would end with cuddles and concession instead.
I was however, surprised when I got the text from him the next day. It turns out the shock was so intense that the points of contact on the cock cage had left perfectly shaped bruises in the delicate skin on his penis...
For once, our play left little love bruises on him instead of me...
I've been promised sweet retribution, and while he has used the shock kit on me, it wasn't in vengeance... Although the threat of obtaining a tens unit if I'm a bad girl still hangs over my head... Looks like I have to make sure I'm just good enough to avoid that fate, for now.
Thoughts overtake me. Walking, attempting to sleep, sitting down, in the company of others when it’s not appropriate the thoughts rush my body. Wicked imaginings: I envision you. Heat, moans, a quickening of the breath, water pouring down us both. Guilty pleasures flash through my head, bad but oh so good. Whispers of limits, shattered lines, softly uttered curses, religious prayers, and begging of need. Feeling, taste, sight, overwhelming my body, forcing my breaths heavy, devastating my senses. Becoming an obsession, addiction, a drug I need inside my body. Oh the things I need to do to you:I yearn to have my lips, my tongue, and my hands all over your body, my body gliding along yours. Memories flashing, burning through my head, coursing down my body. A tightening of where I crave you most. Stop, but to no avail; I bite my lip. So amazing, overpowering, consuming, fulfilling. Each thought of you my body begs for your touch, careless that it can’t partake. Tender from bittersweet pleasures, a physical reminder of what was. Erotic. Pulsating. Throbbing, hot, wet. Oh God, just once more, one chance encounter, one moment, but it won’t be enough, just a slight cooling and releasing until the next buildup. I’ve had a taste, I desire more. A memory to savor, torture on cold nights. I can already hear my moans for more, sense my body arching towards yours. Anticipation. Waiting. Aching for the moment. I think of you and my blood pounds, excitement mounting. I can feel your deep breathing next to my ear; eyes conveying longing, your desire pressing hard and ready against my skin. Your lips gently pulling on mine. Our bodies entwined, unable to deny urges. Can’t get enough; you’ve taken over my thoughts, my body now powerless to our yearnings. We shouldn’t, so good, stop, please I need you. I can’t alleviate it, I won’t resist, no longer want to. Make me feel the things I crave. I can almost savor you in my mouth, your hands gently in my hair, compelling me on. Smell you on my skin, a stimulating, impetuous scent. Feel you in my body, overwhelming, pushing, engulfing. When I was mindless with heady passion, not yet you said softly then, the words no truer than now. But like then, it’s only a matter of time. Bad thoughts…guilty pleasures.
Ever read something and feel so inspired by the words, that they echo to your story, and you feel the need to express them? My sister's rough drafts did that to me, so read and see her words that inspire Bad Thoughts
I have read several blogs and articles discussing how poorly the US is handling sexual assault and harassment of women in the military. Australia Chief of Army is a little more direct in his message. I think this was eloquent, decided to share, and I found it on: The Week.com
How do you like . . . 1. Your eggs cooked? Over Easy, but I often have them scrambled because that's how my family like them and I'm too lazy 2. Your sandwich cut? In half, down the middle of the square or on the diagonal? On nice bread down the middle, on regular sandwich bread on the diagonal 3. Your coffee? Sweet, two generous spoonfuls of sugar, and a hint of milk or creamer 4. Your tea? Vanilla Chai latte is my absolute favorite, but I make so many fruit teas to drink cold during the day as well (about 3 quarts a week) 5. Your ice-cream served–cup, cone or condom? Yup you read that right, a condom. Read more here Condom? So strange. Cup, if I'm indulging in actual ice cream (I prefer frozen yogurt), I'll get the cup 6. Your hair–long or short? Up or down? Straight or curly? Permed or natural? I really want it long, but seeing as how it's naturally very curly, it doesn't like growing long and staying healthy. I can get it past my shoulders, and not much further. And it is 90% of the time in a ponytail. My other sister is genius with the hair - she must've taken all the talent. 7. To have sex? In what position? A favorite of mine for months now is on my side, with one leg between his, and the other wrapped around his side. His leg will frequently brush again my clit as he's thrusting in and out, and it positions him so deeply. Bonus: How do you like your lovers? Dark hair, adventurous spirit.
————- 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!
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Overall: I loved it. Although a great beginner's paddle, it can be used to tease or punish depending on the mood. It is incredibly flat and easily tucked away between small spaces. Reasonably priced, I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the suede and stitching. And have I mentioned how adorable it is! For those people who love the vibrant pink and black look, they will not be disappointed.
Playing: While firm, it does have some flexibility and would be a great beginner's toy. It is a slapper style paddle. There is a sturdy center piece that goes the whole length of the paddle, but otherwise the impact area will curl in if you grip the sides. Use is very straight forward, it is short enough to give the user great control over aim and takes little power to use. Not to mention: it's cute as hell and not scary looking. When I saw my big burly lover holding a bright pink heart-shaped paddle, it certainly made me smile.
The area of impact is long and makes an amazingly sharp cracking sound on the skin that sounds far worse than it feels. While he has a larger ass, being a man, the long impact area wasn't a concern, but he also had no problem hitting my smaller butt correctly. Though it has some flexibility, it does create a sting when enough force is wanted. It turned my ass a beautiful shade of red with around ten spanks.
I was a bit concerned at how wide the handle is, but like the impact area, the sides of the handle will curl slightly if gripped tightly to accomodate a smaller hand like mine. My partner's bigger hand had no issue with this and didn't find it bothersome that it could be smaller.
First Impression: It was delivered very quickly, in a typical, discreet
shipment box. My postman was given no indication of the content. There is no
packaging other than the box and a plastic wrap around the paddle. The only
information about the paddle is listed on the outside of the box. And it's
Specifics: It is promoted that: "all 'PINK' items are
made from super-soft, high-quality suede." I couldn't agree more, this is
beautifully vibrant in color, super soft suede in texture. I kept wanting to
run my fingers (or other parts) over the suede. The handle and impact portion
are all one piece. There is a black heart (suede) shaped piece at the top of
the paddle. The paddle is slightly raised up in the upper part of this side
where the extra black piece was inserted. It was well stitched together. There
is a black wrist strap tied through the bottom of the handle to hang the paddle
from or wrap around your wrist during use. My lover decided he would never use
the strap and it annoyed him, so he easily tugged it apart, breaking the strap
(though with some patience I'm sure that it could be untied).
When tied, the wrist strap hangs down 6.5 inches.
The handle length is 5 inches, width is 1.5 inches.
Impact area length is 8 inches, width 3 1/4 inches.
Word Limit - 369
Required Phrase - Bewildered
Forbidden Words - Knock,
Extra Credit - Set the story during mid-day.
Bonus Words -
Tell us how she got the slipper (25 words)
Tell us about the neighborhood
made a horrible racket and then stopped working. It felt like her heart stopped
too. She had an interview in thirty minutes. She opened the dryer door, and her
meager collection of clothes were sopping wet. A curse word escaped her lips, think. Her friend, Katie, was moving out
today of apartment 6, next door, and since it was midday she was hoping Katie
was there and not finished moving. Peeking out her door, no one was in the
hallway, not even a noise, and she slipped her feet in her slippers and rushed
down the hall.
rapped desperately on the door, she realized how ridiculous she was. What was
the point of slippers if she was butt naked? Habit, but she must look insane.
And she still had the notes for the interview in her hand. She could only hope
Katie would answer, laugh, pull her inside, and loan her some clothes so that
she could make it to the interview desperately needed.
A man opened
the door. Bewildered, she wondered if someone new had already moved to this
rundown neighborhood- this was an interesting way to say hello and greet your
neighbor. She didn't know if she should scream, apologize, walk away or say
something...anything. He was staring, gorgeous eyes, broad shouldered, bulging
biceps. "Like what you see?" he asked, her gaze was obvious.
out of her confusion. Shrugging, she decided false bravado. "Like what
you see?" she parried back, and then stood on tiptoe, looking for Katie.
"Is Katie here?"
I'm her brother, and she's at the new place."
boxes and ducked around him, moving in. "Tell her Natalie borrowed some
clothes for an interview. Does she still have some here?" already
rummaging, she didn't see the appreciative look in his eyes.
will you give me if I show you?" he teased. She faced him, gorgeous she thought again.
tonight, followed up by a massage for your help moving and showing a naked woman
"never thought I'd show a sexy lady how to cover herself," he said as
he walked past towards a room. She said a silent thanks and followed close
behind. She'd make it to the interview on time, and had a date with a hottie to
celebrate tonight. She just hoped he was paying, money was a little tight right
Kink of the Week is on one of my favorites. To KISS (keep it stupidly simple), I am just going to answer the questions.
"Knives excite a lot of people. They scare a lot of people too."
Just yesterday a friend of mine told me that he's terrified of being stabbed. He has something against knives. He's in the military, and has no fear of being shot, but a serious fear of knives. I found this odd; knives have always excited me (and I think being shot is worse).
"Have you ever played with knives?"
Oh yes, I've played with knives. I have two scars in the learning to play with knives. I used to fight with them, and I was adept at throwing knives in my youth as well.
Sexually, I began playing with knives with a boyfriend that taught me sword fighting. This man was masterful with a blade in general and I wasn't afraid in the slightest when he suggested that we incorporate one in bed. The first time the smooth flat part came in contact with my hot flesh I was sold. The contrast in temperature was amazing. It moves smoothly, effortlessly across the skin. The tip of the knife scratches its way, leaving a tiny trail of such precision.
"Does the sight of a knife’s sharp edge excite you, make you afraid, do both? What about the feel of a knife?"
A knife does both for me. I have trusted two partners to bring a knife to me, though I have used a knife on more. With my current lover, we were talking in a parking lot in his car and I saw that he had a ka-bar. It was in a sheath wedged between the center and his seat, so I grabbed it. The weight was so heavy, so solid, the edge so sharp and smooth, the flat of the blade was thick and dark. I loved the feel of this in my hand. "What are you doing?" he asked, curious. Suddenly, impulsively, I straddled him and put the knife up to the side of his throat. There we were, in an abandoned parking lot, in a car, and I had a knife to his throat. He just calmly looked at me, a steady gaze, queried again, "whatcha doing, babe?" and I melted and fell in lust with him.
"Ever played with a knife?" I whispered in his ear, nibbling on it, on the other side of him gliding the flat of the blade across his neck, going slowly from behind the ear to below it, across the side of his neck, against the pulse, slowly down to the front dip between the collarbones. I breathed heated breaths against his neck, moved back a little, and swiveled so that the knife tip so very gently followed the collarbone towards me and arched up the side of his neck, softly moving up to behind the ear I had just recently nibbled.
"No," his voice had a deeper timbre to it, "but I think I've been missing out on it suddenly."
"Does a knife at your throat (or other body parts), or does holding a knife to someone’s throat (or other body parts) make you hot or turn you cold? Is it fear play for you or just sensation play?" It is fear play, but mostly sensation play for me. I have a glass dildo that is cold like a knife, and thick and smooth, and runs across skin like butter in a pan. There is a picture of my glass toy and a knife resting in ice water that my lover thought to do to increase the cold factor when we play.
The same friend yesterday, when I described the cold sliding against fevered skin said, "then we could just use a spoon." I laughed, and argued that a spoon would work for one type of sensation that a knife can do, but it isn't small and precise like the tip of a blade, exactly what is wrong with my glass dildo; to which then he said, "a fork will do that." Yes, but a fork isn't thick and there's more than one small protusion.
And there needs to be more than sensation play, I need to excitement and fear of a knife. I love that absolute concentration required, that the person wielding the knife is skilled with their hands, that the person receiving the blade is still, focused on the sensation, and above all trusting of the other. A cold knife at my throat is exquisite, the tip of the blade scratching softly at my nipple or gliding flat blade across and making them pucker makes me breathless, and the any part of it moving up and down the inside of my thighs makes me tighten in desire.
This week, TMI Tuesday is looking at sex on vacation. I just got back from a lovely trip, and have quite a few more planned for the summer, so this is pretty perfect timing.
1. Do you have more sex or less when on vacation?
More, as long as the kids aren't there. Then less if they are. This last trip I pushed him for five sessions in the evening because, well, I could. We wouldn't do much sight seeing if I had it my way when we travel childless.
2. Do you plan a vacation so that you will have an opportunity to have sex?
No, we have opportunity. I don't mind planning long car drives because of road head. I pleased him twice whenever the drive became a little boring this weekend. Sadly, he wouldn't agree to parking, but I did masturbate for him so he could watch for stolen seconds while driving.
3. Have you ever planned a vacation in order to meet someone for sex?
Yes, this used to be quite frequent.
4. Have you ever gone on a singles’ cruise or some other hookup-facilitating vacation?
I actually was on a cruise ship with 90% of the people being swingers. Great people to party with, but I wasn't technically with them, so I've never planned a vacation with that intent.
5. Have you had sex on a means of transportation other than a car: bus, train, airplane, cruise ship?
Cruise ship. I don't think I'd want to anywhere else, but who knows
6. Have you had outdoor sex on camping, hiking, skiing, boating vacation?
Yes, camping. And he was so paranoid about me making any noise, or us being seen. Not hiking, but I hike all the time, so that's a shame - more his decision than mine.
Bonus: Do you pack sex toys, lubes (3.4 oz bottles or less), etc when you fly? Do you think about TSA finding them? Has TSA ever found them and questioned you about your sexual aids or displayed them? Tell us about it.
No, I am worried about this. When we moved across country recently, I shipped my favorite vibrating toy over before flying so that I would have it, but not worry about TSA finding it.
Key Word = Escape
Word Limit = 333 words
Word Restrictions = Racquetball, lover, sunlight, morning
Bonus Points = Tell us about a time when you had to escape yourself. She needed to escape! The words pounded in her head, her blood pumping with nervousness as she looked behind her at the bed. What was his name? Shit, she needed to know. It was important, imperative, she remember his name. Normally, it wouldn't matter in the slightest. She reached for her little black dress, searching for her panties and bra. Where the hell were her shoes?
Her head pounded, from stress or the hangover she wasn't sure. Her phone buzzed again, another friend texting about the chaos of the Boston lock-down. He stirred, and she froze in panic. Her friends had nothing to complain about, she was the one waking up next to a practical stranger, after having spent a drunken passion filled night...and she still couldn't remember his name. And now she couldn't sneak away in the perfect-one-night-stand-disappearing-act-routine.
Right when she located her bra and went to put it on, he opened his eyes, and looked directly at her. A sleepy smile appeared on the stubbly face, eyes slightly red but amazingly a vivid blue greeted her. She always did have a thing for dark hair and blue eyes. "Hey sexy," she whispered, trying to come up with a plan, a statue of nervousness, still holding her bra. Who needed a plan, her foggy brain rationed, she had breasts. She threw her bra to the floor and slipped between the covers, caressing his back, his arm automatically going around her.
"Hello Miranda," his voice had a husky timbre to it. Shit, he remembered her name. She began nibbling on his neck, stalling, arching and pressing her breasts against him, feeling his chest hairs sliding across her nipples. She reached down and felt his hardened reaction. First sex, she decided, next joke about how she calls him god from now on, and then more sex. What else was there to do in a locked down city with a stranger?
**I was inspired by this blog after reading about a man stuck in an apartment, during the Boston lockdown with a one night stand (someone he did know, thankfully) and her roommate. He talked about how he lost the dignity of slipping away the next day, and how awkward it was.
Once, when I was younger (and dumber), and handcuffed by the police, I had to escape the cuffs. I smoked cigarettes then, and the officer graciously allowed me to smoke, even lighting it for me, as he awaiting another officer. However, I couldn't smoke with no hands, I just wasn't that talented. So I slipped one hand through the cuff to smoke. He couldn't believe that I could escape that easily. Fun fact, I can collapse my hand to the size of my wrist (which is tiny to be sure). It hurts, and I don't ever do for that reason, and I never take advantage of it when I am tied up; however, it's comforting knowing that I have that option to escape.
By the way, I have no criminal record. I was not handcuffed for committing crime, simply being around the wrong (awesome) people at the wrong time, it would seem.
I've seen him all night. I am drawn to him, his smile, his stance, even the way he holds his drink. I want to draw his finger into my mouth and caress it with my tongue.
I want to sidle up to him, smell him, be the object of his gaze. My eyes are constantly drawn to the group he is standing in. Although I follow all of the conversational cues of the people in front of me, my attention is firmly directed elsewhere.
I shift in my stance, growing warm at the bent my thoughts have taken, feeling the lace and satin of my panties grown damp and caressing my skin with my arousal. He is hypnotic. Pure male, strong, handsome.
I almost didn't come tonight. The party is for my dear friend, but I've been so anxious lately. I've been so angry, high strung, having no outlet for the stress consuming me. Suddenly, now though, here it is, that outlet. I can sense the power in him, and I want it.
Busted. My heart stops as he looks up, connects with my gaze. His steady eyes neither appraising or surprised, simply looking at me as to say "I see you, I know you are mine. Be patient". I take a fortifying sip of my drink but don't withdraw my gaze. I'm almost brash in my surety. To withdraw is to show weaknesses so I maintain the hold.
He glances at the men he is speaking to, does the ritualistic pat on the back men sometimes do to end a conversation, and begins to make his way over to me.
There aren't an abundance of people at the party, but the house is small and better suited to intimate groups for conversation. I step slightly from the group I've been chatting with, making myself more accessible. I grow nervous as I see him wend himself through the crowed. I pray I don't giggle when he introduces himself. I have a deplorable habit of doing so when nervous. A million thoughts race through my head, he is so beautiful.
Instead of what was expected, he suddenly draws up behind me. My hair brushed from my back sends shivers down my spine as his lips brush my ear to whisper "let's go". His hand brushes goosebumps down my arms and his fingers envelope mine.
Faces so close now, I can't break his stare. My heart thunders and I am his. The earth ceases to turn, and the world is void of everything but him. He guides me out onto a deserted balcony off of one of the rooms. The sweet night air, warm with the summer breeze touches my body like a lover and he faces me in the dim light.
This is rebirth. The scorched earth of my being suddenly renewed and replanted, and I am safe. I do not know this man but I know that he is mine as surely as I am his. I move into his waiting arms and the heat surely cannot be this great but I am aflame.
My lips meet his and I melt. This cannot be real for the human body does not contain enough nerves to feel the things I'm feeling. He tastes sweet, his smell intoxicating. I want to be consumed but yet do not feel haste. Time is unlimited as I know I will spend eternity enveloped in his embrace.
His hands cup my cheeks and I see my demise in his eyes and my undoing in his arms. I have traveled a thousand miles already down a road I do not know, but cannot refuse the journey.
No question asked but that must be the answer to any inquiry he makes of me. Wherever and whatever path he leads me on I will follow. The crazy, normal world of the house party, without noticing our absence, carries on. Outside, in this private place, lit by this sultry summer's night, I have found home...
Happy Birthday to Wicked Wednesday! See who else is being Wicked.
Category: Sister PrideExhibitionist You want your loved ones to see the good that you see in them, and the beauty. From a girl who once said her best asset was her "makeup", she blames the supportive people who comment, and I can't thank you enough for showing her the beauty that she possesses.
Category: Oh take me, make me. From Beck and her Kinks No You Don't This little tale got me so hot and bothered right from the beginning: "Tied and helpless. I lay. Being beaten and being toyed with. As I wiggle around screaming in agony."
Category: Touchingly Personal Reminds me of my current dilemma of missing my husband, then ending, echoing my frequent emotion, "Choosing death, for without
you every night/I'm a shadow, ever searching your
light," Terza Rima Sonnet: Your Light, From Sweet Lust. Always find her poetry haunting, but this one really hits a chord.
Category: So hot and written from a male, yum. Riding the Wave Everything from the tying up to the going down, and anything I read that has a man going down tends to get me, his words poetic in imagery: "Each time she came close to climax a wave of fresh nectar poured from her and
filled my mouth with new delicious flavours, threatening to overpower my senses," Deepthought69.
There have been several bloggers who are discussing privacy and their reasons for blogging in the first place. I thought it would be good to discuss some of our reasons as well:
1) It gives a creative outlet
2) Allows an audience's feedback
3) Allows exhibitionism
4) Gives support to a nonvanilla person surrounded by that flavor
5) Allows sex to be portrayed positively
6) Being part of a bigger community
7) Gives the sisters something to partake in together and discuss