Monday, June 29, 2015

Blue Collar Bondage: Part 2: Chains

I stumbled through the door behind him, close on his heels. The curtain fell back into place, brushing against me as we spilled into the dungeon. The floor tiles, patterned to look like stones were cold against my feet. He dragged me past the homemade whipping table and padded leather spanking bench to an armoire resting against the far wall. He threw open the doors with his free hand.

"Hands out," he ordered, pulling something metallic from the cabinet.

I crossed them over my chest defiantly, earning myself a good shake from the hand fisted in my hair. Slowly, I reached out both arms. Duke released my hair the snatch up my forearm in steely grip and snapped a wide black iron manacle onto one wrist and then the other. A fat heavy chain ran between them. My arms dropped from the weight, the metal cool against my skin. I shivered, enjoying the feel of them against my sensitive wrists, turning them this way and that to feel it slide around.

Duke caught up the chain and dragged me to the open space in the floor. He lifted the chain, pulling me up onto my toes to hang the chain on a hook hanging from the ceiling. The chain slid into the place, letting me fall back onto my heels, my arms stretched high above my head.

Duke smiled down at me, giving my cheek a quick pop. "No more running, Rabbit."

I looked up at the hook. It was positioned at the perfect height that I could stand flat-footed for comfort but had no chance of getting the chain off without help. I jingled the chains anyway as he moved back toward the armoire and began sorting through it, pulling things out. He came back into view, pushing a waist-high dolly cart laden with items. A few coils of chain, a narrow leather collar fitted with o-rings at the four compass points, and a series of anal plugs ranging in size. He chose the collar first, buckling it snugly around my throat to prevent it from slipping.

Once finished, he stepped back and gave me a once over.  He reached up an spun me to face away from him and swept my hair up, twisting it messily and clipping it into place at the back of my head. I shivered as he ran a hand down my back to settle on my hip.

"Let me tell you what you've won, darlin'." His hand fell away for a minute or so to return on the opposite hip as he leaned in and nipped my ear. "First," he growled, "I'm gonna whip your ass. And then I'm gonna fuck it."

At the last word he pushed a slick plug into my ass. I gasped at the cool hardness of the glass as it filled me. A small invasion. I shuddered, thinking of the largest one that still sat on the table waiting for its turn.

He spun me back around and took up one of the coils of chain. He hooked one end to the collar like a leash. I was confused for a brief moment until he looped it between my legs, stepping behind me. It slid easily between the lips of my sex as he pulled it tight. I shuddered again as it rubbed against my clit and the plug filling my ass. He attached the other end to the back of the collar. Every small movement sent new waves of pressure rolling through my body. I let out a small whimper.

"Mmmm. I love that sound," he said, attaching another chain to one running between my breasts. He ran it underneath the right breast and crossed it behind my back to attach it to the left ring on the collar and did the same to the other side. The metal bit into my skin as it lifted the modest weight of my breasts, presenting them for his touch. He caught one up and drew my nipple between his lips, sucking it to a hard point. I arched toward him with a small gasp, whining again as the chain between
my legs bit into me. He chuckled and I felt a pinch as he adorned the little bead of flesh he'd just awoken with a black and silver clamp. He swirled his tongue around the other before giving it a quick suck and adding the other clamp. He clipped the tail of the Y-style chain on the clamps to the center chain, far enough down that any struggles would pull on the clamps and add more pressure to my clit.

"Fuck," I managed to breath out, chest heaving.

He tugged gently on the nipple chain. "Oh, we're just getting started."

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

A More Intimate War (Part 2): Enthralled

Sundar watched her eat with no small degree of fascination, which perplexed him. She wasn't a particularly handsome woman. Her face was a bit plain, with a strong jaw. Her nose bent slightly, and he wondered if the flaw shared the same cause as his own, although he imagined such a thing better suited the face of a man. A warrior.

But then, she was also a warrior, was she not? He remembered a woman, years ago, sitting tall upon a blue roan, her hair, the color of burnished gold pulled back from her face into a tight knot. He remembered her leather armor worked into the pattern of the leaves of the trees native to the border regions and shaded with their color, better for hiding in the forests. Her gray eyes, cold and ruthless as she ordered him tossed in that hole to die.

He'd thought her beautiful then, resplendent in her cruelty. A worthy shield maiden.

She inspired less awe now, thin and bruised, a look of pure exhaustion in her eyes that rivaled the battle-weary elders of his people. The ones who had lost hope of falling in glorious combat.

And yet, there was something about her that still held him in thrall.

He held out a bit of cheesecloth filled with pieces of rabbit meat from his dinner toward her. Tentatively, she took it, tensing up as he moved to sit next to her. He let his fingers brush over her shoulders and down her back. She kept looking back at him nervously, but she said nothing as hunger clearly won out over discomfort. He swept her hair over her shoulder to examine the whip scars decorating her shoulders. He pressed his hand flat against her skin to feel the raised flesh against his palms.

She straightened and looked back at him, her face a mask of indifference. "Do those appeal to you?"

He smirked. "I like a rough wooing, but scars are for enemies, not unarmed women."

She snorted. An indelicate sound, but he supposed there was little that was delicate about her. He'd heard legends of the battle that rendered her lame. It was said that the warlord Hyrdric himself had taken her down. And had kept her, apparently. A sad fate indeed.

"Did you not say we were at war?" she said around a mouthful of rabbit. "Am I not an enemy then?"

He rolled atop her and dragged her hips forward, pulling her flat against the furs. Forcing a knee between hers, he threw her legs wide around him and knelt between her thighs.

"A different sort of enemy. A different sort of a war."

She glared and kicked at his chest with her good leg. Sundar caught her ankle in his large hand, holding it still. He pressed a soft kiss to the sole of her foot, drawing his short fingernails lightly over her calf and down her inner thigh. Ulrika shivered involuntarily, her glare intensifying.

She stuffed another bit of meat in her mouth, and settled back, crossing her arms under her breasts as she looked up at the ceiling of the tent.

"Well? Commence with your 'rough wooing' then."

He chuckled and pulled her hips forward again until her arse rested in his lap. Gently, he pried her arms open and pushed them to rest on the ground. She still refused to look at him, but she left her arms at her sides. He wrapped his hands around her rib cage, his thumbs resting beneath the swell of her breasts. Slowly, languorously, he moved down her sides, caressing her belly with his thumbs until he stopped in the place where hip met thigh.

"You haven't earned rough yet."

No, rough attentions would not serve his purpose. Not yet. She was used to roughness, resigned to it. He could see it in her annoyance. He admired that though. Her unyielding nature. She readily surrendered her body, but her spirit was still the same warrior of old. A shield of disinterest in the face of what might otherwise be horror. Sundar didn't want horror. Nor did he want disinterest. He wanted her surrender, all of herself. To enthrall her in the same way she had enthralled him.

He caressed those soft places to either side of the golden hair that dusted her mound, grinning as he wrought a shuddering breath from her. She bit her lip, concentrating hard on the cross beam of the tent. He lifted her crippled leg to drape it over his shoulder and planted a kiss on the inside of the mangled knee. Her eyes slid back to him, curiosity swimming in those stormy depths.

He smiled again more softly, letting his hand drift down that pale thigh, lower and lower, seeking his prize.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Monday, June 22, 2015

Kink Lit: Beyond Shame is Beyond Awesome

As I have mentioned before, I'm a bit hard to please when it comes to kink erotica. I'm not particularly fond of group arrangements and I'm really picky about sexual language. However, I am, if nothing else, a context whore. I can look past a lot of my personal tastes if the language and actions make sense within the context of the story.

Kit Rocha's Beyond Shame does a bang up job with this.

Beyond Shame is a post-apocalyptic dystopian erotic (interesting combo, eh?) novel that takes place after the world is ravaged by solar storms that destroy much of modern society. Eden is the city of the righteous with advanced technology, wealth, and laws so strict, two offenses can get you exiled into the (mostly) lawless Sectors where sin and vice reign supreme, or into the Communes, massive farms where one lives and dies in the fields. Beyond Shame is the story of Noelle, a woman exiled from Eden, and Jasper, a member of the O'Kane gang which runs Sector Four, and, of course, the many colorful characters that populate it. It is a wonderfully composed story about the awakening of the sensuality and sexual power of a woman who has never truly known physical affection.

And it fucking rocks.

I found it while perusing spanking romance in the Kindle store, so I suppose I expected something along those lines. That's not what this is, however. It runs the gamut of fetishes, from bondage, to control, to impact, to voyeurism and exhibitionism, among others. You get group sex, one on one, and bisexuality. It's a fair feast of sexual exploration.

I'm sure some of you are thinking "Wait, and you like this? You?"

Yep. Whilst being a context whore, I am also a plot whore, which should be obvious if you've read any of my work. Beyond Shame gives its readers a wealth of vivid characters with distinct personalities and a compelling story. The sex scenes and the style in which they are written make sense within the world that the duo that makes up Kit Rocha has built. Rich in gritty and sensuous detail, you will become absorbed in this world and desperate to know more about it and about the characters within.

Which, fortunately for you...and me...Beyond Shame is the first in a series. I can tell you now, I was extremely excited about that.

Despite the fact that I'm not really into group sex, same sex encounters, or the cruder sexual lexicon, I couldn't put this down. The sex scenes were hot despite my personal inhibitions.

It's pretty impressive when a book can make me find a blow job appealing.

I'd say my only real beef is that I can't say that I have a good image of what the characters look like. I mean, the clothes are described with exquisite detail, but I have a hard time conjuring up their faces. Of course, this could simply be something my brain glazed over or discarded.

Also, I've been reading through ebooks since I got my Kindle in December and this is the first fucking one I've read that actually had a decent copy editor. I really appreciate when the same amount of care and effort is put into the digital versions of books as the hard copies. I'm OCD, so copious glaring errors pull me out of the story.

Kudos to the copy editor on this one.

Beyond Shame is a wonderful example of kinky fiction. I highly recommend you traverse the interwebs and acquire this work. I'm sure you'll be just as addicted as I am.

Onward to Beyond Control!

Sunday, June 21, 2015

A Beauteous Beast

During my adventures after work today, I stumbled across the most wondrous thing. A hairbrush. A paddle hairbrush. Bedecked with a scene from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I thought it quite fitting given that Soul of the Gray is a perversion of that fairy tale, and Part 2 even has a hairbrush spanking scene. So, I present the newest addition to my toy bag, a most beauteous beast. 

I will likely regret this decision at a later date. Or, my ass will, at any rate. 

For those interested you can purchase this brush from Hot Topic. They do have international shipping. 

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The Ultimate Punishment

Every now and then the question comes along, particularly in Master/slave forums, about what is the best/worst punishment. Worst being the most awful you've experienced and best being the most effective. You tend to get a hodgepodge of answers, ranging from the bizarre to the boring, the fluffy to the horrific. But, by far, the most popular seems to always be:

"When he says he's disappointed in me."

Now, maybe I'm weird, but that statement in and of itself is not a punishment to me. It's a statement of fact. It doesn't end the issue. Nothing is happening. In fact, I'd say it probably prolongs negative feelings rather than eases them. I have to beat back my jaded little brain squirrel muttering about how the statement often smacks of speshulness. I'm so slavey that just the mere thought of his displeasure is punishment enough.

Yeah...well, I'm not that slaverly. I feel bitchy for thinking that when I hear it, but I mean, stating a fact is not a punishment. At least, not in my mind.

As a physical creature, for something to count as a punishment in my mind, I typically need something tangible, some kind of consequence. A manifestation of displeasure rather than the simple verbal expression of it. Whether it be a physical punishment or a removal of privileges. It just has to be something that provides penance and catharsis, that signifies forgiveness and the end of an issue.

I can't say that I'd respect Daddy if all he did was say he was disappointed in me. Yes, I live in abject fear of him being upset with me, but I expect him to enforce his rules with more than just words. I love words, but for some situations I find them woefully inadequate. Physical enforcement is just one of those things that is an integral element to M/s for me. Without it, it just wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be slavery to me.

This is motivated in no small part by my rather prevalent discipline fetish. It was my first kink and remains my primary kink. My earliest fantasies were always some sort of S&M, but couched within the context of punishment. I remember seeking out historical novels in school because they were more likely to contain punishment spanking scenes. When I discovered historical romance, my favorites were always those where the heroine was spanked by the hero for some misdeed. Despite never really being disciplined as a child, I have been forever drawn to a discipline relationship.

Naturally, now, my favorite type of erotica is domestic discipline romance, a new discovery, since I didn't know it was a thing before. Despite my inclinations, I'm woefully ignorant of most kinds of erotica, having stuck mostly with historical and paranormal romance throughout most of my life.  DD romance can be a bit preachy depending on the author, but I'm a spanko, so I can overlook some things.

My go-to punishment of choice would probably be some type of spanking. It's just kind the iconic form of punishment. Nothing else really speaks to me in the same way.

But, while my relationships have all had punishment dynamics, none of them have been or are strictly domestic discipline, so spanking is not really the main punishment.

Well, I guess.

Daddy claims to use a variety of types of punishment. It's basically whatever strikes his fancy at the time, and can depend on the infraction. This is not an aspect of our relationship that we have really been able to explore. Distance makes things difficult and I have not yet fucked up all that much, but I know that spanking is not the only tool in the toolbox.

My ex defaulted to beating. I suppose you could technically call it spanking, but he went a bit too far, so I hesitate to call it that. The two that I remember before he lost interest in paying much attention to me were simply awful. Twenty lashes with spike studded belt for a casual joke I made in text. 36 strokes with a braided plastic cane followed by dry anal for breaking some rule, probably masturbating without permission. I don't rightly remember. He ended up giving me two new limits in his ineptitude. I won't let anyone near me with a studded belt, and because of him, I won't allow play partners to use canes on me.

Much to Peach's profound disappointment, I assure you.

I don't yet know what is the most effective punishment for me. I haven't experienced enough of it to have discovered that. If I had to guess, something corporal would probably flip all the right switches in my brain.

I have experienced the worst. At least, the worst of what I experienced, and that was in my very first relationship ever.

What I can say is that "I'm disappointed in you" is not remotely it. Because my response is going to inevitably be "Okay, now what are you going to do about it?"

For me, disappointment is the problem. The correction is what comes next.

eLust #71

The Shingle Beach
Photo courtesy of The Shingle Beach

Welcome to Elust #71 -

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 Elust. Want to be included in Elust #72? Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Backyard Glory
Bra Wars
Versions of Ourselves

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabled characters: who do I write them for?
How Can You Think About Sex Right Now?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*


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

How We Started Swinging: Part 2
Notes to my younger self
I am what I am
Sometimes Submission Requires Standing Up
I know how to fix a texting mistake.
Change Is A Four Letter Word
Zero to Sex Pot in 150 minutes

Erotic Non-Fiction

23 Minutes Of Play
Services Rendered
Depravity’s Communication
Sinful Sunday: The Reveal

Erotic Fiction

No Panties
A Woman's Experience of Lust
Wicked Wednesday: Three
An Uncommon Case
Misused Petals
(portrait of) desire
Her Turn
A Day At The Beach

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Am I Jaded?
Fury Road's Furiosa and femdom
Sub power, Domly Vulnerability
In Person I Found You Very Innocent.....
Still A Cherry Tree


Catching Up: A Happy Horny Haiku
What You See

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Hey, Feminism? Your ugly is showing.
The Bigger Picture
Naive College Virgin Reads Penthouse Letters
Squirting is Not a Science
Missing “Story of O” scene discovered!

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Sunday, June 14, 2015


I had someone relatively recently ask me if I thought I might be demisexual. She had read something, perhaps in my FetLife profile, or something else I posted where I mentioned being what I call monosexual. I can only be sexually attracted to one person at a time. I was only vaguely aware of the term demisexual at the time. I didn't know what it meant. After a quick skim of a wikipedia article, I rejected the idea that I might be demisexual because I'd been sexually attracted to people before I had an emotional connection before.

Hadn't I?

I've been with one man physically, my ex. It was a pretty fast connection, but I suppose there technically was one. The only play partner I've had that I've been completely comfortable with, enough to do more sexual type play, but not sex, is a man I've known for 20 years.

Do the math in your head if you have a vague idea of how old I am. 

But...I've been sexually attracted to strangers before...right?

Then it dawns on me that every masturbatory fantasy I have ever had has been populated with faceless aggressors perpetrating some kinky act against me. I have to put effort into fantasizing about actual people. When real life people worm their way into my fantasies, the complete bizarreness of my fantasizes dims down to something a bit more tame.

I have fantasized about:

  • Being fucked by a ghost I can't see.
  • Being tied up and raped by some demon king guy, who when he leaves for the day, imprisons you in a room made of mirrors. In the mirrors are more demons who can do things to you, but you can only see them through their reflections in the mirror. Your body moves and responds to them, but you can't actually see their physical bodies in front of you.
  • A sex slave training harem type thing where the newest girls are subject to the whims the senior girls, and the guards, and...well, anyone. (This one is a favorite and is far more elaborate than what I've described here, including several different iterations and sections.)
  • Another weird-ass demon one based on a creature described in a scene from Terry Goodkind's Stone of Tears that we won't really go into the details of...let's just say a barbed penis is involved.

And before they involved sex:

  • Being tied up upside down and beaten severely with different objects.
  • A prison type thing, vaguely inspired by the prison from the live action Mario Bros. movie, with like robot arms things that molest you and stuff.
  • Similar to the one above but with one of those conveyor belt type things from the old cartoons where various fetishy type things happened.

Besides involving a lot of force, and things I'd never actually want to do in real life, the thing every single one of those fantasies had in common was the fact that the other person or people were completely and utterly faceless. Unknown strangers with no real characteristics.

I assumed when I read the topic for this week's Kink of the Week that it would be another one I would skip, since I have no interest in anonymous sex. Fucking a stranger in the flesh does nothing for me, but, in a way, I suppose I've had more anonymous sex than any other kind of sexual activity.

I'm less enthralled by fantasizing about real people. The only real people I can fantasize about are those I'm in some sort of relationship with. It's easier to get into if I'm writing it, but when simply fapping? I'd rather have the weird-ass fantasies full of strangers.

So, maybe I am demisexual. Maybe I can only manage true sexual attraction to one person with whom I share an emotional connection. But, in my dreams? They're all anonymous.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Blue Collar Bondage: Part 1: Make Me

Using the key Duke had given me, I unlocked the door to his trailer and stepped into the darkness. The light of the afternoon sun filtered slightly through the blinds in the living room windows, but it did me no good with the lenses of my glasses still tinted from the brightness outside. I blinked, half blind, as I pushed the door to behind me, waiting for the tint to fade. I sat my bags down near the door, not sure what to do with them. Duke was still at work, so I couldn't really ask him. Perhaps I should have waited to come over until after he'd gotten off. I suggested as much, but he was insistent that I come over as soon as I got into town.

I wandered into the living room, sitting down on worn, chocolate colored couch that faced a modest entertainment center against the wall as my eyes finally adjusted to the light. I laughed when I could see what the room looked like. In addition to the brown couch I sat on, a maroon recliner sat to the left of it next to the window. The Minion doll I'd bought him for Christmas sat on the arm of the recliner, holding up its pink feather duster like a torch. Duke had warned me about the decor, so I wasn't exactly surprised when I looked down to see the floor was a mosaic of tiny movie posters covered in some type of resin. The coffee table was a touch frightening. One of Duke's handmade
pieces, a large circular saw blade, also coated in resin, made up the table top. It was rather beautiful once you got over the fact that it was a saw blade. The end table was one of his, too. The Gates of Midian from Nightbreed had been burned into the wood with a soldering iron.

I stood up to explore the rest of the house. My steps landed hollowly against the floor, that distinctly trailer sound of the crawlspace under the house. As far as I could tell, all of the floors were tile, although the poster mosaic was consigned to the living room. I plucked up a discarded shirt from the floor and went in search of the hamper. Shaking out the shirt, Papa Smurf looked back at me with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face next to giant white text that read "I love it when you call me Big Papa."

How appropriate.

On the way to the bathroom, I passed a large terrarium containing an emperor scorpion. I stared at it for some time, skittering across some wooden limbs. I shivered, thankful, at least, that it wasn't a spider. Above the terrarium was a display case of various species of beetles mounted on a white board with pins. There were other cases, and one with spiders, but the spiders were encased in blocks of clear plastic, possibly the same resin used on the table and floor. The opposite wall held a painstakingly crafted mural of Pinhead from Hellraiser.

I sighed softly. If I didn't know the man, I'd have been fairly creeped out by the whole motif.

I finally found the door to the bathroom and flipped on the light.

And sighed again.

The walls of the bathroom had been done in the same poster mosaic as the living room floor, except this one mostly comprised of horror movie promotions. I remembered him mentioning once that he had gone to a closing sale for Blockbuster and taken all their posters. I hadn't thought they'd all be the size of DVD covers though. The shower curtain was a brilliant white, splattered with bright crimson to look like blood. A white fuzzy rug lay just outside the tub.

Absentmindedly discarding the shirt in the wicker hamper beside the counter, I ran a bit of water over my hand. I flicked water at the rug and watched as the wet spots turned blood red.

Of course, he would have that particular item.

"You like it?"

I jumped, turning around to find Duke watching me from the doorway with a lopsided grin. He'd taken off his hat, but I could still see the indentation of it in his chestnut hair. He swept it back with a large hand, revealing a touch of silver at his temples.

"I...I'm..." I stammered, not sure how to respond without offending or lying.

"I'm a girl." I finally said.

He gave me one of those smug man chuckles, soft and deep. "You'll get used to it, I imagine. You'll find the other bathroom less offensive."

I squeaked. "I didn't say it was offensive. I just...It's just really fuckin' weird."

He grinned again, his mustache tilting up on one side. "I've never been much on normal. But then, neither are you."

He pinned me with those lovely hazel eyes, swimming with a combination of browns, greens, and grays. I took an unconscious step toward him, and he laughed again.

"Look, baby, why don't you go back to the living room and watch a bit of tv?" he said, starting to unbutton his tan work shirt. "I did a bit of bed bug genocide today and I need to get this blood off me. And, as much as I'd love you to join me, I'm gross."

He stood away from the door so I could step out of the room and he could walk in. I eyeballed his ass, beautifully displayed in the forest green Dickies of his uniform. I'd always been a sucker for a good pair of work pants. I couldn't give a rat's ass about suits, but damn.

Wordlessly, I held out my hand.

He looked at it. "What?"

"Shirt." I said. "And pants," this time with a bit of a grin of my own.

"My my, a bit bossy today ain't we?" He handed over the shirt and started unbuckling his belt. I watched with morbid fascination as he slid it free, relishing the sound of the leather sliding across the rough fabric of the Dickies. He doubled it over in his fist before laying it on the bathroom counter. "I think I'll keep that one," he said, chuckling again. Slipping off the pants, he folded them over and handed them off to me.

"There's a basket in the laundry room for my uniforms. Just go toss it in there."

I moved to obey, lingering long enough to watch him slide the Superman boxers off and turn on the shower.

The basket was easy enough to find, piled high with his uniforms from earlier in the week. I cleaned out the pockets before tossing them down with the others, managing to rescue about sixty-three cents in assorted change, his wallet, and a stray business card that read "Duke Hampton: Pest Assassin" under the logo of the pest control company he worked for. Giggling a bit to myself, I laid them in the shallow bucket that sat atop the dryer.

When I got back to the living room, I realized my toy bag had been relocated to God knew where. How did the sneaky bastard manage to both get in the house and move my stuff without me hearing a damn thing? I flopped onto the couch, my skirts fanning out around me, and piddled on my phone in lieu of fishing for something on Netflix. Duke didn't have cable, so that was my only option for TV, but by the time I found something, he'd be done anyway.

I looked up several minutes later as he padded back into the room wearing nothing but a pair of well-worn jeans. They didn't have any holes, but the denim looked butter-soft and molded to his powerful thighs in a most distracting way. His wet hair was slicked back, belying its few inches of length. A pleasant smile painted his face as he flipped on a lamp, casting the room in a golden hue and throwing the black tattoos on his torso into stark relief against his skin. A grim reaper decorated his left pec, a tribal style wolf on the right, and a large outline of a Gothic cross  began in the middle of his chest and ran the expanse of his flat belly, ending at a point at his navel. I wanted to lay my cheek against that belly and revel in his skin against mine.

Coming up behind me, he plucked the phone out of my hand and deposited it on the top of a high bookshelf out of my meager reach.


"What, darlin? You ain't gonna need that tonight." He turned back to me with that slow grin. "Now, I do believe you, pretty little rabbit, are wearing too many clothes. Off. Now."

I sat up slightly and smirked. "Make me."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, now," he drawled, walking up behind me again and running his fingers through my hair, the cheater, before wrapping the considerable length around his fist and pulling it tight. "I guess we're gonna start tonight off with a bang."

"Upsy Daisy" he sang as he hauled me easily to my feet by my hair. I stumbled a bit as he steered me around the couch and back down the hallway towards the door to his bedroom. Or doors, I should say, one, leading into a little hallway with a door to the left, and the final door spilling into his surprisingly spacious room, complete with a king sized waterbed and rainbow trout body pillow that wasn't much shorter than me. He casually flung me into the room, releasing me so that he could lock the door.

I took the opportunity to dive bomb over the top of the couch that rested at the foot of the bed, rolling off the cushions and hitting the floor with a solid thud.

Duke snorted. "You must really hate those clothes, rabbit." He loped toward me, but I was already pulling another clumsy leap back over the couch, landing on the bed with a slap and a rocking of the water-filled mattress. Another slap and slosh and he was on top of me. I squeaked as he landed.

"Rabbit, now you know, running makes it worse."

"Now that," I said, chest heaving with the efforts of my acrobatics, "is a matter of opinion."

"We'll see." He hooked both hands into the collar of my blouse and ripped the poor thing straight down the center. A few more yanks at the sleeves and the garment fell away from me in tatters.

"Be nice to the skirt!" I yelped before he thankfully only yanked it roughly off my hips.

"Fortunately for you, I like this skirt," he said with a sharp slap to my thigh. He tossed the gauzy white fabric into the corner. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he flicked it open with a soft click and cut away the ill-fitting black bra I'd put on that morning. The elastic in the band had left red lines on my skin. He rubbed at them with his fingers, almost as if he might make the little indentations go away with enough effort. He frowned at them but slid back down to examine the lacy blue panties I wore.

"Oh, looky what we have here! A hole!" he slid a finger into the in the most auspicious place a hole could ever be in a pair of panties and ran slow circles around my clit.

I arched with a slight gasp. It was a delicious sensation, hard enough to feel good, soft enough that I wasn't scrambling away from it. He pulled the finger away to hook the hole and wrench the fabric up so it bit into the tender flesh. He hooked two fingers from his other hand into the hole and split the fabric, revealing more of my sex to his wandering hand. He plunged two fingers into me, teasing the inner walls and coaxing moisture to the surface.

"Mmm." He hummed with a smile, cutting away the rest of the panties with the pocket knife. "I was nice to the skirt. Probably won't be so nice to the kitty," he said, giving it a firm slap. "You gonna be a good girl now, hmm?"

I tossed the fish pillow at his head. It bounced off his face and landed on my belly with a soft thwump.

He tilted his head slightly. "I can work with that," he said, rolling off of me and rolling me off the edge of the bed. I hit the floor with another thump and a groan. His feet landed beside my face.

My hair suddenly became a leash again as he dragged me toward the doorway blocked by a black curtain.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Lady Fapping: Long Distance Lovin'

Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked that question, but I'll take it. I go fish out a jelly plug and a small three-pronged massager, and once in place, lay on the bed.

Sigh, now I have to get up and go find a third toy. 

When you use the word vibe to describe all three toys, I get confused....

I couldn't help it!!

Dammit, now I have to go find the damn things...Which happened to have been buried loose in the bottom of my toy bag. 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Monday, June 1, 2015

Straddling the Slash

Can you miss something you've never really done? Or having not done it, does that mean you simply long for it? I think I miss this thing. A thing I've never really gotten the chance to do.

The long distance thing is hard. There are so many limitations imposed by distance. No corporeal physical affection. No use. No pain. Minimal obedience. No service.

No service.

Cajun Chicken Alfredo.
My favorite dish to make. 
Frankly, I feel useless here. So many things I could do, would do, if only I weren't a thousand miles away. Clean his house, even if I hate cleaning the one I live in now. Making him delicious food. Learning new dishes for him. Perhaps learning to cook vegetables in a way that would make me actually want to eat them. Running baths for him. Removing his boots for him because it probably hurts his back to do so.  Fetching him food and drinks, probably on a cute little serving tray.

And the sexual service, of course. Being the canvas to be painted red. Being manhandled, jerked about by a chain or my hair. Used for pleasure. Or simply used as a pet, the way one absentmindedly strokes a cat in one's lap.

I have this in me. It is my core, the part that forms my identity. However, for the last few years, I have existed in the public scene as a service top. In the dungeon I occasionally frequent, one could be forgiven for assuming I identify solely on the left side of the slash. I have topped every time I have attended. I haven't bottomed in public in close to a year. Or perhaps more than a year. I really don't know. It's only been within the last handful of months that the group has had a top that fits my owner's requirements.

Roughly 3 years that I have spent as a top in the scene a majority of the time. Being a top when it's not a part of your soul is exhausting. It does things to you. At first, I simply found satisfaction in the skill. Pride in one's craft, I suppose. It gave me something to do when I wasn't allowed to do anything else. It allowed me to learn about different physical aspects of kink even if I wasn't experiencing them myself. I've since developed the most basic sadism where I find the activity amusing on a funny level. But typically that only happens when I get challenged or trash talked. I attribute that to the brat part of me, but I'll never be a sexual sadist. I'll never "get off" on topping.

I find it hard now, though, to bottom in public. Serving as a top has provided me with a sort of shield. It removes me from a place of vulnerability in the public sphere.  There is less teasing. There are no come ons, no threats, good-natured or otherwise from other doms.

I realized this at the the dungeon this weekend, when Kitty found herself in a cage with our friend Bambi while Bambi's husdom tormented them through the bars. Other doms were egging him on, and he mentioned he didn't have permission to hit Kitty. Someone quipped that they could go get permission. I quickly informed them that there was no one to get permission from except Kitty because she is single. A free agent, as she called it, I think.

At that point, I realized that no one would make such threats about getting permission to "discipline" me, because no one there besides those from my local scene had any idea that I identify on the right side of the slash. It is hard to relinquish that protection. People really do give tops a lot less shit, or they feel more entitled to give an s-type shit because they are submissive and typically bottoms.

Despite my needs, I feel less and less inclined to step back into the vulnerable state that is being a bottom in public. My particular neuroses do nothing but amplify that reluctance.

Sure, I have the fantasy of offering service...for perhaps a night. To try and capture the essence of the subservience in my soul. To feel those things that give me that peace inside. But before I let myself take that step, I recognize the sub frenzy for what it is. My devotion is a hard thing to win. My submissive nature hard to bring out fully, because I respond to very specific dominant natures. I know that my desire is only the unquenched desire to serve him, to be subjugated by him.

Even through the frenzy, I know I'd regret any decision to put myself under the power of another, no matter how temporary. It wouldn't fulfill that need in me. Part of me would feel like I'm betraying the power I have given him, regardless of the fact that he'd wholeheartedly approve.

I probably have far more self-imposed rules for myself than ones he has provided for me. I lament that sometimes. I wish I could experience more of his dominance, that I could offer him some kind of service. I wish he asked more of me. Something that might abate the confusion and conflicted feelings that come with being a submissive top.