Sunday, 30 December 2012

Tea and Spoons Part Three (Erotica)

A story about female dominance, parts one and two are already live, parts four and five are on their way. Apologies to regular readers for the delay in this posting. I promised it yesterday but internet was denied! It was traumatic. I need a spanking, or perhaps I need to spank the internet providers....


Charlotte stands there with the paddle in her hands. She caresses it slowly, gliding a hand along the long shaft, rhythmically moving her slender fingers up and down. The paddle has a solid rubber grip, shaped perfectly to fit her hand. It is the paddle itself that makes Jon’s breath catch. It is about eight inches long and a good hand width across. There are holes dotted along it, holes which Charlotte keeps fingering between her caresses. Jon looks at the paddle with fear and excitement. He looks away from it, from Charlotte. He looks down at himself, sodden in piss, his tongue is rancid and furry, covered in piss and dust and filth.

“You are disgusting. Stand up. Remove your clothes. Put them in the washing machine. Then go and wash that filth from your body, and make sure you clean your teeth. You stink, you disgusting boy, you do not deserve to be in my presence.”

The instructions are like a gut punch, he is like this because she told him to be, he doesn’t understand.

“Yes, ma’am, sorry ma’am”

“Good boy, leave the bathroom door unlocked.”

He did as he was told. As he walked through the house he felt ashamed of what he could smell and taste on himself, but his cock kept twitching in anticipation. His pulse raced and he felt close to the edge. He didn’t know what of, but an abyss was just there waiting for him. 

The hot water ran down his back and across his face, warm and comforting. He seemed to have been in there forever and had almost forgotten her when the door opened. His body tensed.

“Feeling better, boy?”

“Yes, much, thank you”


Charlotte bought a little foldaway stool with her. She unfolded it, saying nothing. She sat on it, directly in front of Jon as he stood in the shower. The paddle was placed across her lap, looming over the room.

By now, the water was off and Jon was getting cold.

“Now, we must start your punishment.”

Jon’s stomach dropped, he felt sick wondering what counts as punishment if the past three hours didn’t.

“First, you pathetically inept idiot, you need to be reminded of the importance of correct spelling and punctuation. Face the wall. Put your left hand against it. With your right hand I want you to spank your arse. You must count as you do so.”

Jon looked at her a little dazed, perhaps confused, and disbelieving.

“Look at me like that again, and you will regret it. Now begin.”

Her voice was stern and full of something not quite anger, but definitely irritation, maybe even boredom? Could that be possible?

His hand lifted and made contact with his arse, it was a fairly delicate flat-handed SMACK






It felt ridiculous and silly to be doing this. Jon could barely feel it and it was more than a bit embarrassing.

“Stop! You aren’t even trying. Pa-The-Tic. Here, take this brush. You are not leaving that shower until your arse cheeks are red and sore. Spank yourself hard, in very quick succession. Ten times on each cheek.”

The hairbrush was a plastic thing with a flat oval back about the size of Jon’s hand. He raised his arm; the angle was awkward, adding to the discomfort. He bought the brush down hard. “Fuck,” he muttered, surprised at how hard it stung, the water had softened his skin and the remaining droplets enhanced the sensation. “One, Two, Three… Nine, Ten.”


Again he spanked himself; it was stinging now, the impact heating up his buttocks and making his cock twitch appreciatively.

“Now your thighs. Make it twenty each side, and hit harder. I know how hard you can hit and you are being easy on yourself. Cowardly little boy, do not make me punish you for failing such a simple task.”

It was impossible for Jon to use the full force of his strength at this angle. The shower was still wet and slippery beneath his feet and his large muscles were developed for strength, not for flexibility. He had to concentrate so hard to aim and stay upright that he hadn’t been able to hit hard. He felt compelled to try harder. The embarrassment had given way to a compulsion, a deep need to do what his mistress (oh, is she really that, already?) commanded. He used all the force he could muster and landed a strike on his thigh.


He wasn’t expecting the searing pain the brush would cause, he clearly didn’t know his own strength, even in this impossible situation.




By the time he had gotten to fifteen on the first thigh, it was agony, his leg was burning and he was making pathetic whimpering noises.


He started to slow down, his breath was shaking, his thighs were starting to wobble. All the time his back was facing his mistress and she wasn’t saying a thing.


At the eighteenth Jon gave a little squeak. The nineteenth hurt so much he bit down and caught his lip making his eyes water. Finally, it was the twentieth strike on the first leg. His arm was starting to ache now, it wasn't used to making this kind of twisted movement. He bought the brush down against his thigh, right on top of the burning muscle he had already pounded. His mind screamed and yelled at him to stop. The thought of doing this all over again made his eyes water but his cock throb.

“Enough! You did that better than expected. Well done, you are relieved of the duties for the other thigh. We shall leave it blemish free.” Jon felt disappointment, he wanted and needed more punishment, but he felt proud about doing so well and excited about the unspoken “for now”.

“Get out of the shower.”

As he did so, he caught himself in the mirror. Bruises were forming on his thigh, he felt vaguely sick, proud, and desperately aroused. Pre-cum leaked from his cock as he gave in to the heady, confusing mess of feelings.

“On your bed you will find what I want you to wear. Put it on.” Charlotte held the paddle as she said this; she stretched her arm out. Jon tensed; his throat constricted expecting to be hit. Instead, the paddle gently caressed the bruises on his thigh, as though the paddle were a soft cushion easing his discomfort. He shocked himself by feeling desire and want so great he groaned and heard himself beg, “Please, ma’am, please.”

Charlotte chuckled, barely audible.

“Go, get dressed.”

On the bed was an item made of black lace. Jon felt confused, his sense of touch heightened, his body electric, his mind lost. He put the lingerie on and stood in the mirror. He saw himself in a skin tight negligee with long sleeves. He could just make out his nipples through the flowery lacy pattern. It came just beneath his arse and cock. The bruises on his thigh visible. He saw Charlotte in the mirror behind him and turned around.

Charlotte stood before him, the paddle on the bed behind her and in one hand she held what looked like a belt and in the other, a huge rubber cock.

Jon’s own cock responded, tenting the lace, rock hard, and dying to be touched.

The next part of the story is here will be up on 3rd December (assuming the internet doesn't die again!) 5th December, due to my shiteness!   7th December, due to reasons (it really will be, it is all ready saved and proofed, ready to his "Publish")! If you read this series do let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome in the comments especially but Twitter and email are also good. Many thanks to Dan especially for his ongoing enthusiasm (and sound telling off for being late!).

Monday, 24 December 2012

Tea and Spoons Part Two (Erotica)

Part One of my story for the seasonal festivities can be found here. I have no idea how many parts there will be. I should give a warning for this story because it includes a hard limit for many people. Highlight to get the warning: piss play, including consumption


Tea and Spoons
Part Two

“Undo your belt buckle, please”
Jon gets goosebumps and gives a little smile. He doesn’t mean to, it just happens. He’s nervous and embarrassed and feeling ever so slightly scared. He releases the belt buckle and starts to pull it through the loops of his jeans.
“Stop! Did I say take the belt off? No. I give precise instructions. Do not deviate from them or things will not go well for you. Do you understand?”
Jon nods. Charlotte accepts his acquiesance with a smile.
“Very well, Jon, undo your jeans and drop them to the floor.”
The man does as he is told. Something he can’t explain makes him cover his cock with his hands, even though he is wearing jockey shorts, and even though she has seen and sucked and fucked it. He starts to realize that he has totally underestimated her. His cock twitches at the thought just as his brain screams for him to run, to beg, to say sorry.
Charlotte stands up and walks around him. She looks him up and down. Every so often she kneels down and stares at his legs, casually running a finger along the inside of his thigh. He turned around once to look at her, she didn’t even speak then, she made the same sound you might make when stopping a dog eat food from your plate, a gutteral “ach, ach” sound. He did as she commanded, humiliated that such a simple sound could make him submit. The inspection seemed to last forever before Charlotte sat back down on the chair, her methodical skirt arrangement exactly like before.
“Come here Jon. Keep your jeans as they are.” Jon hobbles over to Charlotte. He needs to pee but says nothing. This will be over soon. Charlotte isn’t very strong, he can always just stand up and go to the loo. No worries ... he ignores the niggling doubt at the back of his mind.
Charlotte pats her lap.
Jon mentally screams and runs and shouts to not be so fucking ridiculous. But he feels himself bending over. His toes and fingers barely touch the ground. He tries to keep his head held up in defiance, but it is too awkward to stay like that. His cock brushes against Charlotte’s thigh and Jon feels shame as it stiffens knowing she will feel it. 
He feels Charlotte grab his arse through his shorts. She kneeds it and tugs it and pulls it. She gently taps it. He feels her hand slip into the shorts and squeeze his arse. His cock gets hard. Jon feels Charlotte slide the shorts just over his butt cheeks. The cool air reminds him he needs to pee until THWACK. He flinches and twitches. 
THWACK, another smack lands on his butt
And another
And another
And another
It stings.
“Ok, that’s enough. Charlotte, really.”
It wasn’t that it hurt, the smacks just stung a little. It was more that this wasn’t how they were meant to be. Charlotte did what he said. Jon hurt and humiliated Charlotte. It wasn’t meant to work this way. Charlotte’s smacks were certainly not supposed to sting. She’s so small and weak and ... THWACK
The anger and humiliation grows as she ignores him. She doesn’t say a word. All he can hear is the sound of her hand landing on his arse and her breathing getting heavier.
“Charlotte, I need to piss, please stop.”
“Very well, Jon, stand up.”
Jon is confused at this, just like that? Maybe he was right, maybe she really is that weak. He really is her boss. He laughs a little too loudly.
“Jon, go to the sink and pick up the mug I left in there.” He looks at her, his face falls, and turns ashen white. Realization sinks in. She isn’t playing. She isn’t his toy to do what he wants with. She is taking what is hers, and somewhere Jon knows he deserves it. He does what he is told. He picks up the mug, knowing what is coming.
“You may piss in that.”
His heart thumps. Excitement and disgust course through him in equal measure. He holds the mug in one hand and his cock in the other. He looks down at himself, standing in the kitchen his jeans around his ankles, his shorts just below his butt cheeks. He looks pathetic. He wonders if his butt cheeks are red. When the piss comes it is a humiliating but blessed relief until he realizes the mug isn’t big enough. He looks at Charlotte, his eyes wide showing panic and shame but also a challenge. He doesn’t know if he is challenging himself or her. She nods at him and moves her hand indicating he should continue.
“I can’t, it’s going to spill out, on the floor, my kitchen floor, I live here, with Jemima, that prim lady you met. I can’t do this.”
“You can and you will.” Charlotte stands up and moves to the door to watch from a distance.
His stomach churns as he feels the warmth of his piss flow out of the mug and over his hand. It cascades to the floor. It falls on his jeans. By the time he finishes he is standing in a pool of his own piss.
“What a good boy, that wasn’t so difficult was it? Now, take the mug to the fridge and put it on a shelf, any shelf will do.”
Part of him feels trapped in a glass cage, his mind screaming for him not to do it. He does it all the same. As he hobbles to the fridge he drags the piss on the floor with him. The mug is dripping with piss but he puts it on a shelf. He shuts the door and tries not to think about it.
“Oh, well done. You get a gold star for that. Take off your jeans, leave them there and kneel on the floor.”
He does as he is told. He doesn’t know why.
“Crawl to me. As you do so, I want you to lick the floor clean. Lick your piss off the floor.”
Jon’s face contorts into revulsion. He feels shame so great he never imagined it possible. He looks at the woman in the door and feels awe and hatred and lust. He crawls towards her, his knees and hands covered in piss. He licks the floor, tasting his own piss and whatever other shit falls on kitchen floors. When he reaches Charlotte he looks up.
Somehow, somewhere, out of nowhere, she is holding a thick wooden paddle.
Part Three will be up on the 29th December

Friday, 21 December 2012

Sexy Blog Posts Links (e-Lust)

Photo courtesy of Penny
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]. Please check the site in January to find out if e[lust] will be continuing under a new owner, or not. Thanks for participating!
~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
My Stint as an Escort
Gone Daddy Gone
Showing My Spots
~ e[lust] Editress ~
Curtain Call
~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~
Thoughts: Safe Words
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
Ask Aunty Dee: Anal Play and Buttplugs
Being sexy
I'm Monogamish, Apparently
Orgasms, Spontaneous
Profoundly in love
Rape Fantasies
Why Don't You Go Fuck Yourself?
Kink & Fetish
An Unexpected Gift
Cathartic Sex
Confession: The Stalking of a Doll
He got off to my laugh
Kink Guide to Fifty Shades Darker: conclusion
Kinky erotica from the top's point of view
Pain and Collars
Pegging Prep for Virgin Territory
The Cowboy (1 of 4)
Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
a different kind of scene
Erotic Writing
Dream Lover
Everything You Give
From the Inside
Get Back in Line
Just Hands
Lust in the Dunes - Part VII: The Love Elite
nching on "Special K"
On The Phone
Out of the Blue
Take Two
The Stranger
White Stockings, White Stockings She Wore
What if?
Writing Challenge - A Question

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

Tea and Spoons (Dominance Erotica)

I am a submissive. I like to be humiliated and bossed about. I like to give the power to someone else, under the right circumstances of course. I have not always been like this. In fact, I am a very dominant person. Some might say a bit of an “alpha.” This is in many areas of life, but especially sexually. Since I was a young wee thing I knew the power I could have over people with the right words or a certain look or smile. 
When I started having sex, I enjoyed being dominant in bed. I particularly liked “corrupting” virgins or the inexperienced (I still have this fetish if truth be told). I would do it for their pleasure, push their boundaries as much as they’d permit and then I’d discard them. In hindsight discarding them was a pretty shoddy thing to do. When I was with experimental or kinky folk I could be dominant. In fact, I loved it. But, isn’t there always a but! 
The kicks I get from being dominant are not from doing things to people or forcing people to do things for their own pleasure. No, I get kicks from being powerful, from getting people to do things I want, even when they don’t want it. This makes me a fantastic dominant in very specific sexual situations, but a lousy one in most. 
The idea of using power in this way is not one which sings to me in the way that giving away my power does. I am a cliché, powerful and dominant (a total control freak) in real life and utterly enthralled to anyone who can make me give that up. But still, today is a day for female dominance and male submission, so this is the first part of a short story. The next part will be up on Christmas Eve. Each part can be read as a standalone, except maybe the first one…it sets the scene.
Unless you thoroughly object to tea, this should be safe to read, even at work.

Tea and Spoons
Part One

The man hears someone at the front door and ignores it; he’s too busy looking for filthy porn. He hears muffled chatting.

“Jon!” His landlady calls out.

Shit! How did that happen, he realizes she is just outside the room. Reluctantly he puts down the tablet, gets off his bed and answers the door.

“Jon, a ‘friend’ of yours,” she hesitates with the word friend, not quite sure what to make of it, “she is downstairs. She says that she was staying with someone else nearby but they had a big row and she has nowhere else to go. Her name’s Charlotte. You’ve never mentioned her before, so I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I send her up? If she really is in trouble, she’s welcome to stay.”

Jon’s first thought is “fuck.” He instantly knows who it is. What the fuck was she thinking? “Yeah, Jemima, send her up. I don’t know why she didn’t call first, must have been something big.”

A couple of minutes later Charlotte is standing at Jon’s bedroom door. He hurriedly shuts it behind her. Not touching her. Not smiling. He doesn’t know whether to feel livid or turned on, so naturally settles for both. “Are you mad? What the fuck?”

Charlotte merely smiles at him. She is carrying a smallish backpack. It gets casually dropped on the floor. She slowly unbuttons her overcoat and drapes it over the bag. She is wearing a severe black dress, made of very heavy fabric. It sits just above the knee. It is very high cut and respectable, quite prudish in fact. It is even an A-line skirt. The only concession to her femininity is a grey band around the waist, showing off her curves. She is wearing thick black tights and formal black shoes. Over her dress she is wearing a tailored suit jacket, the same colour as the band. Her hair is slicked back into a very tight bun, with just a couple of strands of hair coming down.

“Hello Jon” She grins wickedly, her eyes slowly devouring him from top to bottom. She kneels down and fishes something out of her bag. She hands it to him.

“Have a look, Jon

He looks at the pages. Dozens of them. Printouts of emails he has sent her. Each one is marked in red. Spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, unreadable is all marked with bright red crosses. “Charlotte, what the hell is this?” Jon starts to suspect that this isn’t going to end well. He looks through more pages, some have been highlighted as well as corrected. As he reads them he realizes they are all unfulfilled promises, things he never did. His blood runs a little cold as he stares at her. What is looking back at Jon terrifies him.

Charlotte is glaring, a terrifying stare piercing through to his soul. He feels himself involuntarily stepping back. “Charlotte, my landlady in the house. This is ridiculous. Seriously, you’re being stu...” There is a knock on your door.

“What now?”

“Jon...” his fastidious landlady looks at the unlikely duo. She can feel the tension. She looks Charlotte up and down, curiously, not quite sure what to make of such a formal looking woman being friends with her incompetent lodger. “I am off out now, I’ll be back Sunday, quite late I suspect.”

“What? When did this happen?”

“Did I not tell you? Oh, I must have forgotten. I won tickets to some jazz thing in London, you know how much I love it. Anyway, it is all expenses paid. Travel, two nights in a hotel. Amazing really, I hadn’t entered, I thought it was a joke, but no, it all panned out.”

“Oh, that does sound wonderful, how very fortunate.” Charlotte smiles at her before facing Jon and grinning. His landlady leaves and his whole body tenses.

“You set this up! How? What the fuck? You’re mad.”

Charlotte smiles at him, slightly cocking her head in delight.

“I need a cup of tea. Let’s go downstairs so you can make me one.”

“What?” Jon feels bewildered, angry, and excited all at the same time. But he follows Charlotte downstairs all the same. He follows her into the kitchen, perturbed that he is following, yet increasingly curious.

“Could you get me a chair please, and make me some tea?”

He doesn’t know why, but he does as he is asked. Something, somewhere at the back of his head makes him want to. He feels the strangest need to see what happens next. His heart rate increases just a little. The anger starts to subside, giving way to curiosity and excitement.

Jon makes the tea while Charlotte intently watches the whole process. No words are exchanged, just glances, occasionally a smile or a nod. The room is filled with tension. He wants to say something. He wants to hug her. He wants to kiss her. He wants to throw her against the kitchen counter and fuck her. Something stops him doing any of that. This is her story and Jon knows it. He hands her tea.

She sits there and takes it. She stares at it and says thank you. Twenty minutes go by and she doesn’t touch the tea. The pair chat inanely about the weather and work. The kind of thing people talk about with their parents, not the kind of thing people talk about when they have done the depraved acts these two have.

“Do you not like the tea?”

“I wait for it to cool before I drink it. It should be cool enough to sip now though.” She sips it once, twice, then she puts it down. Ever so slowly. Jon watches her head lift up. Then she stands up. She picks up the mug from the table. Jon watches her movements. Every one is precise and careful. The room practically crackles with electricity. At that very moment, Jon realizes what he did wrong. The milk! Charlotte likes her milk added after the water. He watches her go to the sink and very slowly pour it out. The warm, wet, milky liquid pours from the mug. He bites his bottom lip. He finds himself holding his breath. It’s caught, just waiting. Waiting for something.

Jon’s eyes follow her as she neatly folds the skirt under her and sits back down on the chair.

“What should I do with you now? That tea was undrinkable. That will not do. It will not do at all. I think you need to be given a little lesson, don’t you?”

Jon freezes like a rabbit caught in headlights. He feels utterly ridiculous. He wants to run, but he has never imagined Charlotte like this. Commanding in quite this way. After what seems like an eternity, he nods.

Part Two will appear on Christmas Eve! is here
This post was made for the prompt "Have I always been....". To see other answers clickety click:

Sunday, 16 December 2012

#Sad Sunday

One of my favorite things at the moment is Sinful Sunday. Many of you know it is a weekly meme where (sex) bloggers post a sexy photo or five. It is a lovely, confidence-building, empowering group. Bloggers comment on each other's posts and build a community. It is a happy experience.

Today's post is, for me, a sad one. Last week hubby vetoed a photo because there was a little glimpse of a nipple. I finally felt confident enough to show it (it was mostly hidden within a candy bra), but he didn't want me to.

This week I made a lovely, lovely post. It showed nothing I haven't shown before. But, I was fully dressed. Hubby was worried that if anyone who knows me saw the post, they would recognize me. I understand this, I really do. But it saddens me because I am not ashamed of who I am. I do not want to be in the "closet." I am because he wants and needs us to be. I understand that too. It is hard though. It is tiring. It makes me feel like I am something to be ashamed or embarrassed about. I truly, truly understand his viewpoint, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

It is not easy when you are with someone who has very different sexualities to yourself.

This is still Sinful Sunday, so have a somewhat anachronistic photo of my cleavage.

Edit: I should add that hubby and I have chatted about it. We are excellent communicators. But part of that communication is openly accepting how we feel. We all have to take responsibility for our own feelings and actions. My husband for his, and I mine. We both accept that we need to accept and acknowledge the feelings of each other, and we are both able to do this. Although, perhaps ironically, that also makes us sad because we do not like to see each other suffer. We are a strong couple with an enormous divide between us, one that is continually being pushed and challenged. It is tiring and exhausting for both of us.

For happier posts, pop over to Sinful Sunday to see some really sexy and daring photos.

Sinful Sunday

Sunday, 9 December 2012

Candy Bra

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away I came third in a Sinful Sunday competition. I received a range of fun prizes (most especially, a lovely leather pussy paddle. I'm vegetarian so I would never have bought it myself, but such fun!). Here are some pics of me wearing one of the other prizes: a candy bra. To be honest, I have always looked at these things with a bit of disgust, and in fairness the sweeties are gross. But, I have to say, it was a lot of fun playing with the "underwear" and if ever you go to a fetish party with food as a theme, this would be a fantastic option!


To see other delicious photos, pop over to our den of iniquity.
Sinful Sunday

Friday, 7 December 2012

Bloghop: My Mind's Murky Murkdom

I was asked by the wonderful, intelligent, oh so sexy Flexibeast to join in the bloghop experience. It is a way to interview yourself on a topic of your choosing. Here is her "Bloghop" post, it is amusing and entertaining (but also, when you read between the lines, sad and poignant). It is a satire about becoming a woman for the fifth column of patriarchy. Please follow her on Twitter, she is a hoot!

So, here are my questions.

Most importantly: what is your favorite color?

Why did you start the blog?
The last session Nic and I had with our sex/poly/relationship therapist was a real eye-opener. The therapist made us realize that we don’t have to deal with our situation in the same way. I kept trying to get Nic to read blogs, books, and articles. I wanted him to come to meetings and join a community. None of that helped him; in fact, it made things worse. What we agreed was that we each need to live our lives in the way we want and it is only our joint lives where we need to work together. Thus, he spends time with monogamous, fairly heteronormative people; and I spend time with a whole variety of queer folk. One of the things I realized was that I also needed a kinky network. I needed to find a way to think about, write about, and explore my kinky side within the framework of my polyamory. This blog has been astounding for that!

Why the pseudonym Emily Daniel?
When I was in my last D/s relationship, Sir thought it a good idea that we use alternative names to try to distance ourselves when roleplaying. I thought it a ridiculous idea, and so it proved to be. The names we tried to use were Emily and Daniel (for reasons I will not share). They are also the names of a couple on the TV show Revenge. It is a show hubby and I watch religiously together. I like symmetry in life, and this seemed like a lovely form.

How would your blog and Twitter followers react if they knew your offline identity, specifically what work you do?
It would vary dramatically. Some would be amused, others fascinated, but others might be horrified. I am a professional person, largely self-employed, and I work for Not-For-Profit agencies.

How many people in your offline world know the blog?
My husband (Nic), our therapist, my former Sir (James or the "Daniel" in my pseudonym), and a very good friend (let’s call him Dan, who I hope will write a guest blog for me one day. He is a great chap and very interesting!). One female friend knows about the blog, we met first and at some stage decided to exchange offline identities too. Fabby sexy lady, but her identity would out both of us! Additionally, one person knows that I have a blog but does not have any of the details.

How would people in your offline world react to the blog, particularly its contents?
Again, the responses would vary. Friends who know me very well might be slightly embarrassed but wouldn’t be shocked. My in-laws would be disgusted and horrified and may well suggest my husband divorce me. My family would be grossed out, but not at all surprised. My professional colleagues would vary between black-listing me from employment, disgust, amusement, and indifference. Some of them might even find a new respect for me. I have often been called a “prude.” By all accounts I give off an innocent vibe until people get to know me.

Do you want to come-out?
The short answer is absolutely! If it were just me, I would scream my identity from the rooftops and join campaign groups (I’m big on community activities!), but this blog is about my husband and other persons I know. That would be terribly unfair on them, most especially my husband. At some point we might get found out, some unpleasant person may decide to out me for kicks. If/when that happens we will deal with the fallout. In the meantime I am increasingly telling people that I like women, am kinky, and so on. It takes time, patience, and resilience to deal with their reactions.

If you could make money from sex would you want to and if so, how?
I would quite like to write about sex and get paid for it, but there is little money in such an endeavor. There is, however, something I have been thinking seriously about for a while. I have been considering becoming a sex therapist. Having experienced appalling and astounding therapists, I would like to give something back. There needs to be more understanding sex-positive therapists who are accepting of diversity. Over the years many people have suggested I become a therapist, but it is only since my own positive experiences of therapy have I thought about it. This is something I shall consider over the next year or two. It would, however, require complete acceptance from my husband, especially as I would actively wish to work with people who have alternative relationship structures and who do not fit within Gayle Rubin's Charmed Circle. This requires more of an open lifestyle policy than we currently have.

Anything else you would like to add?
I am currently writing a short story/novella/novel (I will see where the muse takes me) about a priest and a young male criminal. Oh, how I love my Priest!kink (that exclamation mark, right there, is deliberate and part of a specific language tied to a very specific community. If you understand it, you will find out my main hobby in the whole wide world).

Now I pass the baton to Clive at Clive Journeys Into Kink. I love Clive, really, I have a (now not at all) secret crush. His posts are humorous, irreverant, and usually include willies and panties. "Willy Hunt" is one of my favorite posts of his. And, this is his Bloghop post "Not to be Published." As expected, it is FANTASTIC, and all about pink panties.

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Why No Sex? I Want Sex!

I’ve been silent for weeks now, not only metaphorically with my blog voice, but also literally with my sex voice. Hubby came home from his fortnight away two weeks ago. Surely, when he came home we had lots of sex, right? Wrong. We had bugger all.

Two and more years ago I would have sulked and moaned and eventually shouted at him, or possibly cried silently into my pillow (I did that most of all). I would have believed it was all his fault and that I was being punished for having led a full sex life before meeting him. Now I am wiser.

We didn’t have sex for lots of reasons, and you know what? Not hubby’s fault!

Blood, so, I have a fetish for blood-play. But, that does not stretch to menstrual blood. To have sex during my period I have to plan it. I have to put down towels and have condoms and all sorts of things. When Nic came back from his trip, I had just started menstruating (four days early, BOOOOO!). Nic never propositions me when I am on my period. I used to blame him for this, but now I see it is because I have issues and he is being kind.

Work, it was insane. I’m not talking 9-5, or even the 9-8 scary business folk often do. No, I’ve been work between 12 and 16 hours a day, 7 days a week for the last month. It has been the brainchild of Satan’s petulant youngest child, trying to show off to daddy. Seriously, it has been that bad. How could I blame hubby on that? Once I would have.

Sickness, hubby had a cold. When I have a cold I get insanely horny. I used to blame hubby for not feeling horny when he was sick. How is that fair?

When sex is bad, everything becomes clouded in that. It is impossible to separate logic and reason from feelings of pain and anxiety. I wanted sex, I never got sex, and a cycle of misery and recriminations developed. Thankfully things are changing, and because Nic and I have been building our sexual bridges (and, oh, what magnificent bridges they are), it has been easier for me to look at my negative thoughts calmly and to recreate them in positive ways. Now I see this period of two weeks abstinence as a chance to explore how far we have come. I’m moaning about two weeks? It wasn’t so very long ago we didn’t have sex for two years!

Hubby was away again this weekend. Monday he came home and Monday night, he discovered new things.
He made me lie on my front, with my bum lifted in the air a little. He spanked it, he bit it (damned hard I might add! Bite bruises!), and he shoved a butt plug up my arse. He also decided, for reasons I can’t fathom, to spank my cunt with the back of his hand. I could hear him wanking above me as he was slapping me. It felt amazing and, of course, I orgasmed like that. The whole time I was wearing my very unsexy red pajama top (it is freezing in my world). When he told me that he was going to come over my back I asked him if I should get naked. He very forcefully said “No!”  His juices shot all the way along my back and into my hair.

Have a strange photo of a streak of my husband's orgasm from my bum to to neck, with just a tiny hint of one of the bite marks. Cheekily cropped as always, nothing too saucy to see on this blog.

This post met the prompt #want for Wicked Wednesday. Please take a look to find a whole range of real life stories, philosophy, sex ed, photos, and all kinds of erotic goodies.

Tuesday, 20 November 2012

Orgasms, Spontaneous

This is the last of my "Orgasm" posts, the others are:

1) Clitoral
2) Vaginal
3) Anal
4) Breasts

This fifth and final post explores the most unconventional ways I orgasm: spontaneously and through the power of thought.

The key element is that the orgasms happen without touching any genitalia (including my boobs). When these orgasms happen they are occasionally strong but usually more of a little “pop” something to get me gagging for more, or something to scratch an itch of frustration. They either happen without any notice, with a bit of a build-up, or because I have deliberately “thought” them into action. Here are some examples where I have had “spontaneous” orgasms followed by my description of how I think myself to orgasm. Maybe try it yourself?
  • Listening to a guy speak with a very deep voice (I encouraged that one, so I could have easily stopped it)
  • Being scratched on the back at a gig (I literally had an itch, nothing sexual, I was gobsmacked when I had an orgasm)
  • Being gently spanked while leaning against hubby on his chair (no control)
  • Sitting in a hotel lobby exchanging sexy emails (I totally could have stopped that, but didn't want to)
  • Spooning in bed with someone I had been flirting with for hours (no control)
So, then, how do I make myself orgasm? This is my handy guide to coming in six seconds (give or take a few).
I clench the muscles about four inches above my clit, (roughly where the G-Spot is supposed to be, although Lord only knows if this is what I am squeezing).

This makes my breath hitch round about my diaphragm and lower lungs (seriously, I suck at anatomy, this could all be wrong).
I alternate between squeezing the internal muscles and catching my breath.
When the squeezing and breath loss coincide, after about three switches or so, I have an orgasm. It releases mainly through the face but also creates a “pop” in the area where I clenched my muscles. I’ve tried to create a spontaneous clitoral and anal orgasm but so far I have had no luck in that area. They are fun to do, especially as a potential taboo in public. They can be great to do in restaurants or on trains when I am with someone who knows what I look like when I orgasm because, no matter how much control I may have, my face and chest always go bright red when I orgasm – even from a short little “pop” like the spontaneous ones.

Fun times!


This was posted as part of the "Wicked Wednesday" meme. The prompt this week was:

I'm not meant to be tamed, so when I can't run wild with another, I run wild by myself *grin*

Clickety click for more Wicked posts.

Sunday, 18 November 2012

What a Crack!

Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse Boobs Arse 

To see other saucy (and downright filthy pics - yey!) clickety click

Sinful Sunday