"unnamed" (erotica)

My erotica today is not literally without a name, but the blog post is. That is because today's story is very triggery. I repeat TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!! Please take this seriously!

I wrote this story about three months ago, almost immediately after reading Mollena Williams's article "Digging in the Dirt: The Lure of Taboo Role Play" in Tristan Taormino's The Ultimate Guide to Kink (2012). The article inspired me to embrace my lifelong rape fantasy. Yes, a rape fantasy. While this piece of erotica starts off fairly normally, albeit it with a D/s and pissplay kink, it is ultimately a rape fantasy. It is my rape fantasy and it both arouses and repels me. It gets me wet and needy, but it also horrifies me. And that horrified feeling is, in itself, hot as hell. It took me a long time to work out whether I was ever going to post this story, but it is one of my favorite fantasies and I return to it time and time again.

Why do I like it so much? I don't know. I cannot possibly be as eloquent as Mollena, "The Perverted Negress," and so I suggest you read her article. It is my favorite piece in an astounding book. Before the story starts I quote a passage from her article:

 

"Rape and domestic abuse are never acceptable. There is no excuse, no defense, for emotional, physical, and psychological violence against another person. Then how does one justify these desires? It is simple to talk about consent, but there are those who assert that no one can ever consent to abuse. ... So how can I say yes to saying 'No!' but not meaning it? Am I not just mirroring the abuses around me by perpetrating these abuses in a fantasy that merely propogates a system designed to oppress and strip me of my humanity?

 

If my stated desires as an adult look like an abusive or dehumanizing interaction, and my partners and I make an informed decision to engage in it, it's all good, baby. Seriously. Acting out personal or historically wicked situations and/or abuses is my right. My sexual fulfillment is only as politicized as I permit it to be. I give no quarter to the juggernaut of political correctness when it aims for my libido, leaving behind a grease stain of shame and guilt."  (page 377)

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The Rape

“Go to the toilet. Take off your knickers. Stuff them in your mouth. Pee over your hand and masturbate until you come. Then come back and give me your knickers without anyone noticing.”

“Yes, sir.”

She did exactly as he told her. She was wearing a skin-tight rusty-colored dress. It was down to her knees with a very pronounced cleavage. The toilet was one of three cubicles in the Ladies room. It was clean enough, and the usual pub graffiti had recently been painted over. The woman lifted her dress up, and pulled down her panties. They were large shorts to avoid a VPL, but they were completely see-through red mesh. Her bush was trimmed just how her Master had instructed her earlier that day. She was wet from being ordered about all day. “Clean my clothes, make me tea, wash your hair with my piss....” 

She stuffed the soggy panties into her mouth, with the gusset against her tongue so she could taste as much as possible. She placed her hand under her cunt and emptied her bladder. The piss ran over her hand in rivers. She nearly came just from that, but she controlled herself. She then rubbed her clit furiously, feeling the pressure build until it came out in powerful waves. Even with the gag the lady in the next cubicle must have heard. She pulled down her dress and waited for the lady to leave.

Back at the table her Master took the panties and stuffed them in his pocket. His cock was rubbing against the inside of his shorts. The wet patch, which had slowly manifested while he was waiting for her, became a large soggy mess in his pants. He was sure the wetness was showing in his trousers now, the thought only made it worse.

The couple carried on like this all evening, chatting and laughing, eating and drinking. It was only when they were kicked out of the pub did they go home. 

The slave made a pot of tea and sat on the sofa. The Master sat next to her as she smiled at him and snuggled into his chest. He put his arms round her and pulled her close, kissing her roughly. She pulled away.

“Sir, I’m really tired. I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. Do you think we could just watch something crap on telly and snuggle?”

He grabbed her hair in his hand and pulled it roughly, forcing her head into his lap.

“Suck my cock, bitch.”

“Sir, I really don’t want to.”

“Like you have a choice, slave, do you want me to beat you?”

“I’m not playing. Red. Ok? Red!”

“What the fuck?” He pushed her off him. “What do you mean, red? Are you serious? You’ve never used your safeword and you use it now? Just because you don’t want sex? You really want to just snuggle? What about tonight? You had your fun, now it’s my turn.”

“Oh, come on. We are adults, we fuck all the time, we do not need to take turns like that. I’m tired, I just want to chill out.”

“You think all this is about you and your needs? You think I told you to orgasm in the pub because that’s what you wanted? I do it because it turns me on and it gets me fucked. So, let’s just stop playing around and fuck.”

At that she stood up and started to walk away. She was furious.

He grabbed her arm, turned her around and slapped her hard across the face. It knocked her off balance but she managed to stay upright. For a split second she just looked at him, shocked. 

He was just standing there, with a furious look on his face. She stepped backwards, slowly, one step, then another, until she was a few feet away from him. Anyone looking at her would see the terror in her face.

She carried on walking backwards, “I’m just going to go next door for a bit; we should spend a few minutes apart. Ok?” As she left, slowly moving one step at a time, she didn’t turn her back on him. He leapt forward and grabbed her by both shoulders. He shook her hard. He slapped her across the face. A hard back-hander. This time she fell, holding her cheek. She sobbed.

“Please, you’re scaring me. Don’t.”

He just stood there watching her. “Don’t what? Get what’s mine?” He spat the words out with venom.

She stood up quickly and ran. Or she tried to, the minute she had taken a couple of steps he was on her. He pulled her to the ground. He pinned her there, his arms forcing her down so she couldn’t move. She was crying and sobbing and yelling out for him to stop. 

With one arm across her chest and shoulders, his other hand lifted her dress to her waist. He then undid his belt, his button, his zip....

“No, please God, not that. I’m sorry, no, please.”

He didn’t stop. 

He pulled his pants down just enough to get his cock out. It was hard and dripping wet. He changed position, forcing her legs apart with his own. She was powerless against him. His strength far surpassing hers. She couldn’t move as he pinned her down with both arms. She was sobbing and turned her head away, desperately trying not to see the face of the man she adored turn monster. He lifted one hand and grabbed her face, turning it towards her.

“Look at me, bitch.  I want to see your face as I come.”

With that he thrust his cock deep inside her. He thrust it in and out, as she cried beneath him. He fucked her deep and hard, shooting his juices deep inside her cunt.

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To see other sexy postings, pop over to Wicked Wednesday

I’m Heteroflexible

A reader of my blog emailed me to tell me I appear “aggressively heterosexual.” This traumatized me. I do not want to be seen as aggressively anything, especially when I do not feel heterosexual, nor do I identify as such. My primary sexual identities are polyamorous and kinky, neither of which focus on the gender of my partner. My gender related sexuality is not pansexual, lesbian, bisexual or heterosexual. I am heteroflexible.

According to the great bastion of knowledge known as Wikipedia, “Heteroflexibility is a form of a sexual orientation or situational sexual behavior characterized by minimal homosexual activity despite a primarily heterosexual sexual orientation that is considered to distinguish it from bisexuality. It has been characterized as 'mostly straight.'”

Apart from being an appallingly written sentence this definition works for me, but let me explain a bit more.

My first sexual experience with another person was when I was about seven or nine-ish. The person was a girl, and I am sure I had no idea what we were doing was “sexual.” We were just in bed together naked and fumbling about a bit.

My first teenage naked sexual experience was with a female. I was about 17. Since then I have snogged women, made out with them, and had sex with them. Except for the odd snog and groping sessions all of my experiences with women have been exclusively for our own sexual pleasure and not with any influence from a third party (i.e. not for the male gaze).

I love to look at women, to fantasize about them, to play with them. I like breasts. I like waists. I like faces. I like bums. I like cunts. I enjoy how women feel against me. In fact, I have a very specific type. Without exception all of the women I have had sex with have been a few inches shorter than me, very pretty, with long dark brown or black hair (usually curly), and very voluptuous figures. They have all been overtly sexual and with very forceful personalities. And nerds. Yep, all of them have been geeks.

Why do I seem aggressively heterosexual then? I assume it is because this blog isn’t about my past sexual experiences. It is about my current sexual experiences and about my recent emotional relationships. Despite my somewhat needy desire for a female friend of mine who lives thousands of miles away from me, I am currently “female” free. I expect that this will remain so for the majority of my life. This is because I have never dated a female, I don’t know why. This is not to say that I won’t, at some point in the future, date a woman. About a decade ago I was besotted with a female friend of mine, and I would have loved to be her “girlfriend,” but she was very heterosexual.

I am no longer someone who has casual sexual encounters. This makes it unlikely that I will be writing about my sexual experiences with women in this blog. But, dear Reader, I hope this will counter, at least a little, any notion of my aggressive heterosexuality. If the right woman (cis, genderqueer, or trans) were to come along, I would not hesitate to embrace them in my heart and desire.

Front and Back



The second photo was chosen as part of the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-Up.

To see more sexy photos clickety click

Cocks

I love them! All of them.

I love to suck them, to lick the length of them, to drink their juices. I love to slide my cunt onto them. I love them filling my arse. I love to watch them shoot their juices over my tits, my tummy, my cunt, my hands. I love to wank them between my breasts. I love to wash them, to hold them, to squeeze them. I love cocks!

The smallest I’ve played with was about four inches, it was only slightly longer than the width of the palm of my hand. It was less than an inch in diameter. It was utterly useless in my vagina, and mediocre for anal sex. But, I loved the feel of it in my mouth. The owner of the cock was also rather fantastic at giving head!

The largest I’ve played with was about 3 inches in diameter and nine inches long. I would orgasm constantly because the cock touched every part of me. But sucking it was tough and anal required concentrated relaxation. The owner of the cock was, until recently, the best lay I’d ever had.

Most cocks I’ve played with have been very average in size. I like average. Average is my favorite.

I prefer cocks with foreskins. But cocks without them are great too. Foreskins make cocks easier to play with. Cocks without foreskins seem less sensitive and need different handling. I have only played with three cut cocks, and one of those was owned by someone truly unbelievably amazing in bed.

All cocks are awesome!

Relaxation Before the Storm (erotica)

This story can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to "The Kitchen."

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Relaxation Before the Storm

After the escapades in the kitchen, I don’t put my panties back on and we go to the pub for a quick drink. We talk about all the things we want to do to each other. All the positions we want to try. All the kinks we want to explore. It is arousing and exciting. It also relaxing as we sit and chat, not feeling pressured, just enjoying our time together.

We go back to yours and make dinner so we can relax watching TV. You choose something you think I should watch and we snuggle on the sofa. The electricity is charged as we idly caress each other. Our hands stroke each other’s arms and legs. Our fingers circle each other’s palms. Our hands reach under our tops until we cannot take it anymore and we start kissing.

I lie back pulling you on top of me, wrapping my legs around you as we grind into each other. You take off my top, then my bra. You suck my nipples hard while squeezing my breasts just enough to keep me balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain.

You turn me over so I’m on my front with my arse and legs over the edge of the sofa. My breasts squashed against the sofa. You lift up my skirt, bare my arse and put a cushion under my head, pushing my head into it. You tell me not to move as you get some lube and a dildo.

You smear lube all over your cock, masturbating yourself so I can feel it along my arse crack. Your left hand grabs my shoulder and scratches the length of my back leaving bright red marks. You lean over and bite my shoulder hard. I scream out for you to bite harder, to just keep going. When you stop, you gently lick where you caused the pain, the nasty mark swelling in anger.

You squeeze lube into my butt crack and tease your finger around my arse, smearing the lube along the crack, around my hole. You take a dildo and put it in my cunt. You rub my clit from behind, not moving the dildo; just making sure it is in far enough it doesn’t get squeezed out with my throbbing cunt.

You move back to my arse. Now you put a finger in, to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way in. You pull it out and add a second finger, opening my arse, relaxing my muscles. You take your fingers out and put a condom on your hard, dripping cock. You open my butt cheeks and ease your cock into my anus. You push it deeper in, occasionally sliding out to torture me and pleasure yourself. You push my head firmly down into the cushion so my breath is restricted. Finally you sink your cock all the way into my arse. You fuck me like this.

You change speeds, slow then fast. You change force, gentle then rough. You change depth, barely entering or up to your balls.You free my head and ask me what I want. I beg you to let me come, but you simply say “permission denied” as you shoot your juices and cry out your pleasure. You roll me onto my back and empty the condom into my mouth, making me swallow, before telling me to go to bed and wait for you. I do as I am told.





This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, with the prompt "Relax." Pop over there to see more sexy stories.

Orgasms, The Vagina

Continuing the series of posts about my ever lovely orgasms, this one is about my vagina. Despite images like this one:

Most vaginas do not exist in a perfectly straight line. I’ve been told by medical staff that my vagina is unusually wonky with my cervix being somewhat far to the right. How fascinating! I have no idea if this makes a difference to my enjoyment of sex, but it is interesting.

I am one of those women who can orgasm just from vaginal intercourse. Yey! But there are five distinct types of orgasms and all of them are stronger if I have already had at least one clitoral orgasm. I have no idea which ones are related to the G-Spot, the A-Spot or Uterine orgasms, but do I need to know? Of course not. Who gives a crap, it’s all about the fun!

So, the first sort of orgasm is localized around the vagina, it usually happens within the first few seconds of penetration by something of suitable girth (usually only a penis to be honest). I can have a bunch of these, but I tend to only have one or two because then the next type of orgasm tends to kick in.

This will have a nice build up, warm and intense sending rolling waves of pleasure through my body. When I’m masturbating, I always have this type. This is my absolute favorite vaginal orgasm and I can have millions of them. Sometimes this orgasm transmutes and becomes one of the other three types I have.

One version is the “face” orgasm, this is when the pressure builds up in my body and bursts out of my face. It is fun, but not awesome, unlike the next type.

If I am very lucky, my orgasm will stop my breathing. Yes, literally. This only ever happens during penis-in-vagina intercourse and while not rare is fairly uncommon. It is a moment of pure bliss as my body totally gives in to the sensations of intimacy and pleasure.

Alas, there is one type of orgasm I HATE! Yep, you read that right, a bad orgasm. This one is, thankfully, very rare, and it only ever happens during penis-in-vagina intercourse. It builds up and, rather than bursting out my face or my whole body, it bursts out my forehead. It feels like a blood vessel has burst. To be fair, I have no idea what a blood vessel bursting feels like, but if I could imagine it, it would feel like this orgasm. It is painful and intense and something to be suffered until it’s over. I can usually have nice, normal orgasms after it, but it leaves me with a headache for hours.

So far I haven’t discovered any limits to the number of vaginal orgasms I can have, which is, I suspect, difficult for my partners. But as long as I'm not interrupted while an orgasm is building I’ll be satisfied.

Having established that my vagina is a moist smooshy tube of bliss, does it need cock to orgasm? Certainly not! Penetration of the vagina can be done by anything and orgasms can be reached through pretty much anything (as long as it doesn’t vibrate, I don’t like vibrators). If I say “we’ve had sex” it can mean anything from we’ve just wanked each other off, to playing online, to a six hour lovefest with no penis-in-vagina intercourse. Having said all of that different implements will lead to different sorts of orgasms and the two most important things? Girth and length. So, what do I like? If you want, you can equate this to cock, because cock-owning folk, size matters. Sorry about that.

If something is too skinny it is going to be no good at all, seriously, I never use less than two fingers in my vagina because there would be no point. Indeed, the ideal girth is about an inch and a half to two inches in diameter. I can take more (I like a good fisting occasionally) but it rarely adds orgasmic value and is more for kink or intimacy purposes. If something is too thick it can be uncomfortable.

What about length? This varies, sometimes I just want to feel something inside me so it doesn’t need to be in very far, but other times I want to be filled. The best thing to use in such instances is something like this:

In fact, this is my very favorite toy! Yep, if you come round for dinner pretty much everything in the kitchen has been in my cunt.

I can wiggle it about and move it in and out, lovely! About 5 inches is the max I usually do. I can take more but if it is too long it can be uncomfy (so, cock-owners, there is little point wanting a cock bigger than 6 inches from base to tip if you ever want to fuck me).

But sometimes, very often if I’m playing by myself (due to hubby’s lack of interest in anal), I’m much more interested in my arse, because my anal orgasms are To.Die.For! I’m looking forward to writing that post, I do love my arse.

Submitting to my Husband

I started writing this post yesterday morning and it was very organic in its writing.

The original post was just this paragraph and photograph:

I was going to write a very long post about how this image came about and what my husband did to me while he made me stand against the wall in a little black negligee. Instead I got distracted by my husband deciding to put his cock in my mouth while I was sitting on the sofa with friends in the next room. Hell yeah! I don't know how it's happening, but I'm loving this side of my husband coming to the fore.

 

The second version of this post was an addition of this paragraph:

After I inserted the photo I noticed the faintest hint of a bruise caused by a caning (by my former partner) back in June. Unless you knew it was there you would never be able to tell and I imagine most people would still not spot it [hint: bottom right corner]. I had to zoom in just to be sure.

This addition somehow seemed wrong though, because I'm all about my husband's dominance at the moment. But something happened to enable this error to be fixed and the final version of the post came about:

Yesterday afternoon I did a very "bottom" thing, rather than a "subby" thing; I asked hubby to spank me while our visitors were out of the house for an hour. He didn't act like a top, he acted like a Dom. He stood in the kitchen, took out a wooden spoon and beckoned me. He physically forced my head down onto the counter, and he forced my legs apart. He pulled down my jeans and knickers and he spanked me with the spoon. He masturbated me and squeezed my nipples until I was very close to orgasm. He then told me to get dressed because it would be sexy to know how turned on I was. Last time he spanked me and gave me a bruise he was very uncomfortable and had bad dreams, this time he didn't! Last night we went to bed and he looked at his handywork and took photos of a bruise he caused. He then told me to straddle him and masturbate myself. He squeezed my nipples, twisted them and told me to lean back while he held them so I stretched my own nipples. After I came he fucked me. This is the bruise that broke his phobia of "hurting" me! It might be delicate, it might not be the result of a hard spanking, but Oh!My!God! it is beautiful because my vanilla husband did it.

For other people's pictures clickety click below.



The Dom is Waking Up

Yesterday my hubby was working from home for the day. He got up and worked in the dining room and I lounged about in bed with my laptop. The next thing I know is that he is sending me an email telling me to squeeze my nipple. We have a little exchange of emails where he tells me that he wants to hear me orgasm. After getting me wet and excited he finally sent me this:

          lie on your back, with your knees up and your legs apart
          rub your clitoris with one hand
          finger your ass with the other hand.
          slap your inner thigh from time to time to get more aroused
          alternate between slapping and fingering your ass until you orgasm

I followed his commands and when he heard me screaming he came into the bedroom, straddled my naked body, and wanked over me. His juices landed everywhere from my cunt to my hair.

The loving Dominant in my husband seems to be waking up and I couldn't be happier. There is so much exciting promise in the air!

Personal Polyamory Manifesto

Yesterday's post was about bringing closure to my first official Poly relationship. I received many wonderful comments from readers. But one, by Stella's Kink, highlighted the significance of the experience for me as a poly person. Stella's Kink wrote:

"A tough situation to be in, but one you will surely learn from and look back on with fondness as you remember your first partner in your poly marriage. Regardless the pain it initially caused, it is an experience you will be the better for having. <>"

This inspired me to postpone my "Vaginal Orgasm" post and publish this, my "Personal Polyamory Manifesto". I wrote it during one of my darker periods within that first relationship. It helped me realize what I wanted from a poly relationship. It has been helpful to remember. Of course, it is something to strive for and not something to stick to rigidly, but by striving for it I can keep myself, my husband and my other partner/s safe.

The point of being poly is, for me, freedom to be able to follow my heart and, to an extent, explore my kinks in a safe space. It is not about deliberately finding sexual partners or deliberately looking for someone else, but about being able to embrace possibilities and be myself. I hope that comes across in my manifesto.

I Want
To be happy
For my loved ones to be happy
Not to have casual, random sex
Strong emotional bonds and friendships
Open, honest, direct, and explicit communication using “I” statements
To be free to love whom I love, how I want to love them
For my husband and my “partner/s” to feel safe
To feel safe
The opportunity to love and fulfill the needs of my " partner /s"
There to be an opportunity for my " partner /s" to become part of my family, if we all wish it
For my husband and my “partner /s” to become acquainted
Mutual respect
To be emotionally, physically, spiritually fulfilled
For my partner/s to be emotionally, physically, spiritually fulfilled
The opportunity for my “partner/s” to be involved in my life and to know my family and friends
I want ground rules

Ground Rules
Be honest to yourself
Be honest to everyone involved
Communicate, Communicate, Communicate
My husband and I will continue to live together and share our love, lives, and finances
Going out with others will be planned and scheduled
I don't want to know the details of a sexual experience, but I would want to know if one occurred, I would give the same respect
Practice safer sex
If a relationship ends it is not to be because it has been “vetoed.” If a relationship ends it should be because the relationship has run its natural course
Try to meet the “partner/s” of my partner/s
Keep everyone informed, discuss, and communicate changes in relationship situations and feelings
Be aware of and cautious of New Relationship Energy, do not make hasty judgments based on it

I am new to the life of polyamory and my manifesto will no doubt change as I change, but for now I think this works.

Blowing a Kiss ... Goodbye

In April I met James, I’ve spoken about him a little elsewhere. We had a super connection, great sex, and a wonderfully fun, entertaining time. But, it was complicated, we lived hundreds of miles apart and he was the first partner I’ve had in my newly poly marriage.

The first three months were great. In the fourth month he got a job. Great! But, James stopped the D/s component of the relationship. The D/s feelings transmuted into other emotions, ranging between anger, sorrow, warmth, adoration. In a way I needed aftercare from the loss of my Dom, but my Dom was still there. It was horrible.

We split up after four months ... sort of. We spent months five and six fluctuating wildly between playing, getting emotional, flirting, and fighting. At various times we stopped talking, kept casual contact, and had more regular contact. A few days ago we finally agreed to amicably break contact.

It sounds like a teenage affair, except my teenage relationships were so damn stable! This is easily the least stable relationship I have had.

So, to say goodbye to my time with James and to bring closure, I ask "why?" We couldn't be together because of the lack of money, and the practicalities of long distance relationships. For him the lack of the prospect of meeting regularly was a killer, but for me the loss of the intense communication and online D/s dynamic was the killer. James wanted to be someone's primary, I wanted someone who would accept me how I was, who wouldn't shut themselves off from me because of the difficult circumstances.

But why couldn't we be friends? Quite simply, it was because we had too much potential to be more than friends, just being friends was impossible. We couldn't flirt without it leading to sex. We couldn't be ourselves without wanting to flirt. We couldn't share our lives without falling back into an emotional relationship. We both felt awful when we didn´t reply to emails, but we both sat there waiting for emails. We were both monitoring everything we said, trying not to say anything that would lead us back into a relationship. We realized we cared deeply but were acting like acquaintances. It was making us both feel anxious and making both of our lives more difficult.

One thing I am incredibly happy about is that none of this had anything to do with my husband. Nic never tried to stop the situation. He even hugged me when everything went wrong with James. James never challenged or questioned my marriage. Neither of them liked the situation, but they both understood it and neither of them used it to bludgeon me with. James and I did not stop dating nor stop being friends because of polyamory, and for that I am grateful and relieved to both Nic and James. But it shows that relationships are always complicated and, if anything, as a polyamorous person it is easier to say I have too much heart than to say I have none. I will always care.

We were together for such a short time, the impact of him on my life seems unbelievable, but we were there for each other at very difficult times of our lives. I had major problems with work, my future direction, and my sexual identity. He helped me through that, while I helped him through a period of major depression, helped him with his fledgling business and supported him as he found new work.

We stopped being friends because in the end we agreed we just didn´t need each other as much anymore, and yet we wanted each other too much to keep our distance. In the end the only solution was total separation.

I place my grief for the loss of a friend and for the lost potential of a relationship here. By doing so, I cast out the feelings and I move on. Goodbye James, I hope you find what you’re looking for.

This was written for Wicked Wednesday, pop over and have a look.

 

 

Hard Limits

I have a few hard limits. These can most easily be classified as:

• No medical play
• No age play
• No hard gags (balls etc, other kinds of gags are awesome, but I hate my mouth being forced open with no possible movement available)
• No sharing me with others (I choose who I play with and when)
• And the biggie, absolutely no foot play at all!

Got that? No feet!

I hate feet. I hate all feet. With.A.Passion!!!!

I don't even wear shoes with open-toes because my feet are never on display. Even on the beach shoes only come off when I'm in the sea. Still, this week has been all about the positive, and so, I attempt to break my phobia with a photo challenging my own limits. In case you doubt the ferocity of this phobia, even taking the photo was traumatic, and while writing this post my toes are curling up with ickyness.

This post meets the "Thirty Days of Kink" prompt "Day 10: What are your hard limits?"

For other, no doubt, sexier pictures pop over to the Sinful Sunday page.

Orgasms, The Clitoris

I usually need a lot of orgasms to feel satisfied in a sex session, but all orgasms are not created equal, and sometimes one will do. I orgasm very easily and very often, maybe this is why I have an orgasm-denial kink.

Here is the first of five short blog posts about my orgasms. Why five? I have five different ways to come: Clitoral, Vaginal, Anal, Breast, Spontaneous. I am going to try and describe them. It’s been surprisingly difficult!

First, the clitoral orgasm

For me, the clitoral orgasm is the one most likely to lead to that “yes” moment, you know the one Meg Ryan fakes in When Harry Met Sally (oh, and I have Never faked! That way lies madness). It isn’t essential for a decent session, although if I masturbate I have to come like this, no matter how many other kinds of orgasm I may have.

If I have a clitoral orgasm before vaginal intercourse, the orgasms I get from vaginal intercourse are way stronger. I rarely like my clit played with during sex, but I nearly always need my vagina filled when I masturbate my clit. Go figure.

When I masturbate I usually use my index and middle fingers on my right hand to rub very firm anti-clockwise circles and sideways movements on the right side of my clitoris. When I get close to coming my fingers then need to move to the top and movements become more frantic, faster, and firmer. I like to tease the clitoris in lots of different ways, but I don’t really like vibrators or scratching feelings (long nails are an absolute no-no!).

The orgasms can come in rolling waves, short sharp bursts, or massive full body jerking all-encompassing screamfests. They can last for (so I’ve been told by lovers) a good ten minutes. If they do, I’m pretty much dead afterwards and any resulting sex will be unenergetic on my part.

Occasionally, the denial kink gets the better of me and I am teased too long. If this happens the orgasm may never come or end up being an irritating little blip that leaves me craving more.

If I do crave more, for whatever reason, the next clitoral orgasm will be much, much harder to achieve, especially if I chase it within half an hour of just “finishing.” The chase will be sweet but frustrating as I have to move my fingers in different positions, and stop/start more often. The clitoris will be very sensitive. When it comes though, it will be so much stronger I will want to just sleep. I think the most separate clitoral orgasms I’ve had within an hour (as in stop/start, not multiple orgasms) is three. This degree of rubbing leads to bruising I have to press so hard!

I think that covers the basics. Any questions, just ask...

The Kitchen (erotica)

I’m imagining what we can do when we get together. I’d come to your flat. I’d come to the door, we’d hug. It would be kind of awkward and you’d make some joke about getting laid. We’d take my bag to your room. The bed would be there, waiting, fresh sheets. There would be a pile of condoms and lube and toys next to the bed.

We’d drink tea and chat and steal touches. Our hands would brush against each other. I’d stand up and put the empty mug in the kitchen sink. You’d follow me.

I’d be wearing a tight black pencil skirt. You’d come up behind me and stroke my back, kiss my neck, run your hands down the sides of my body. You’d grip my waist and push yourself against me, trapping me next to the sink. Shivers and tingles would be running through me.

I’d free myself from your grasp and move to the nearest work surface and sit on it. You’d touch my legs, sliding your hands under my skirt, stroking your hand up my stockings, feeling my wetness through my lace panties. I’d beg you to put your fingers inside me but all you would do is circle the edge of my hole, teasing, and tormenting me.

I’d undo your flies and take out your cock. It would already be wet. I’d try to masturbate you, but you wouldn’t let me. You’d step back and lift my skirt up higher and you'd pull the panties off me to expose my bum.

You’d push my legs apart.

You’d tell me to masturbate as you'd take your cock in your hand. You’d hold your cock, stroking it up and down.

With one hand I'd have to keep my balance on the work surface as I’d play with my clit with the other. My juices would be dripping on the counter.

You’d stop; go over to where the cooking utensils are kept. You’d take the thing with the biggest, longest, thickest handle you could find. You’d thrust it into my cunt.

All the while I’d still be playing with my clit. Two fingers pressing painfully hard, moving in rapid, frantic circles. You’d keep pushing the handle in deeper, wondering when I would stop you. You’d hold the handle with your left hand, thrusting it in and out while you’d grab your cock with your right hand. You’d grab it, hard, then soft, changing your roughness and speed so you don’t yet come.

I’d get closer and closer, finding it harder and harder not to come. My groans would be getting louder and louder. My face would be flushed and you would see redness around my neck going down my cleavage, into the space hidden by my clothes. I’d beg for permission to come. You’d tell me to. My orgasm would come in hard, rolling waves, seemingly lasting forever. I’d beg you to come. You would, with pleasure so intense it would be almost painful. The juices would shoot over my bare legs. You’d put your arms around me. I’d wrap my arms around you and caress your hair.

Blowing the Whistle

This week my Wicked Wednesday post is taking a tangent away from straight up (fnar fnar) erotica, into social commentary. This is because this week I decided to try and follow the prompt. Rebels Notes always gives such fun and interesting prompts, I thought I would try to match it. This week was no different. The prompt is the hugely successful Number 1 song “Whistle” by the rapper Flo Rida. The lyrics are rather fun and jolly. The whole song is essentially a very thinly veiled reference to oral sex. Here are a sample of the lyrics:

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I’m gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

These lyrics totally kicked my brain into positive action. I thought of all kinds of delicious things to write about. But then I watched the video. And I sighed. And I moaned. And neither the sigh nor the moan were me having fun sexy times!

I find the video repellent. “Whistle, gets exactly the type of video you’d expect: shot in sunny Acalpulco, the ... vid features boobs, babes, bikinis, and little else” (Becky Bain, Idolator). Here it is:

 

I like women. I like boobs. I like bikinis (not as much as swimsuits, but that is another story). I love sucking cock. I enjoy wanking off to porn. So why on earth would I have a problem with this video? I don’t. There is nothing wrong with the video at all. My problem is that this is the only representation of women the target audience of the video is likely to encounter. My problem is that this video and the countless others like it present unrealistic, unnatural, consumerist, views of sex and sexuality, often with elements of non-consent.

Why does the music industry insist on objectifying women en masse? I don’t need to write about the impact of sexual objectification of women in videos, because quite frankly it has been done elsewhere.

Besides, if I am honest, I don’t mind if people are objectified. This blog objectifies me. I am quite certain that at least one person has been “inspired” to pleasure himself because of it. If I didn’t want to be objectified I would not write this blog in the way I do. But I objectify myself for my own pleasure and if others receive pleasure as well that is a happy bonus, it is not my primary aim.

What saddens me is the lack of equality on display in music videos. Where are the older women? Where are the larger women? Where are the women in wheelchairs? I would wager none of the gyrating women in music videos are trans women. Most women are invisible, denied both a presence and sexual voice. The women in these videos are displayed to appeal to other people; they are almost certainly not projecting sexuality for their own sexual pleasure.

This is also the same for men and those who do not meet society’s gender binary expectations. The only people who do not meet societal norms of beauty and who are permitted to be sexual beings are the artists themselves.

Until we see people of all genders and all sexualities in erotically charged music videos, the privileges portrayed in videos like Flo Rida’s “Whistle” will continue to create the norms of our society. I hope the end of those days is nigh.

Until then, and in honor of the spirit of Wicked Wednesday, here is the incredibly hot Laura Jane Grace singing Transgender Dysphoria Blues.

 

For less rantier responses to the prompt pop over to the Wicked Wednesday page.