Saturday, January 30, 2016


Madness is imminent, I think. I once found her presence comforting, a beautiful memory dancing in the periphery of my vision. She is less shy now. Her taunting has turned to torment. She reaches out to me from the shadows, beckoning me to join her. 

The peaks and valleys of her flesh call to me as much as the chilling whispers that echo around me. I see her fully, her curves resplendent in light from an unknowable source. But her face...her face is distorted, hidden in darkness. I cannot see her eyes, her nose, her lips. In these moments, I wonder if it is truly she who calls to me.

Or something else entirely.

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Pocket Full of Horses

Since I started doing sex things about 5 years ago, I have purchased a whopping one box of condoms. It was a box of Trojan Her Pleasure condoms. I think there were 12 total in the package. Out of that twelve I only really have memories of using two of them, but we'll round up to 3 to account for any repressed memories given that it's been a handful of years since I've had sex. The rest of them eventually migrated into my toy bag. I think I finally threw them away sometime last year when I wanted to use the wallet I'd stuffed them in.

Well, I say the rest of them.
Image from
Trojan Product Page
At least one of them ended up in a purse, as I had taken it with me to a date with my ex. The date had resulted in some outdoor kinky stuff (in fucking January, I might add) but, disappointingly not in sexy times. Somewhere in the next couple months, I switched purses and that one ended up in my closet.

Now, this would be all fine and dandy, except over the course of my adolescence, I have had a habit of commandeering purses that my mother had been given but didn't like or just ones that were more my style than hers. And, well, sometimes, she repossessed them if I stopped carrying them.

So, I'm happily going along, exploring my kinky self, probably 6 months into being sexually active...well, if you could have called it active, without my parents knowing a thing about it. One night, I'm sitting in my dorm at college, piddling on the internet, when Mom messages me on Facebook to tell me she went in my closet and took one of her purses back. I instantly remember that there's a little horsey in one of the pockets.

This conversation ensued:

Mom: Was the big black purse with pockets on the side the one I bought in Tulsa?

Me: Does it have a sort of draw string at the top?

Mom: yes

Me: Then yes

Mom: I am going to use it until you want to use it again

Me: K. There's nothing in it, is there?

Mom: Well um, what is in it I will put it your drawer

Me: I was afraid of that.

Mom: Better safe than sorry.

When I got home that weekend, she wasn't there but dad was. I asked him if Mom had told him what she had found in my purse and if he knew where she put it.

His response? "Yes she did and no, I have no idea."

And that, ladies and gents, is how my parents found out I had lost my V-card.

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

Sunday, January 24, 2016

The Duke's Discipline

If I had to choose one image that represented the core of my kink self, it would probably be over-the-knee spanking. That one image encompasses so much of what is appealing in kink for me. I am a tried and true spanko, there is no doubt about that, but there's much more to OTK than just spanking.

2nd Spanking scene in McLintock!
It is the iconic image of discipline for me, one of my most fundamental fetishes. It's a wonder how I have come to see that position in that way. I was never spanked as a child. All I had to go on are books and movies and cartoons.

Now that I think about it, perhaps the movie that sealed the deal for me was McLintock! with John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. I used to watch John Wayne films with my dad all the time when I was a kid, and McLintock! was by far my favorite. Looking back now, it was probably because the move has two spanking scenes. Both of which are, you guessed it, OTK. I think I'm going to blame my fascination with OTK on the Duke, the manliest man put to film. Sure, I'm probably hyperbolizing, but John Wayne gives me a serious nostalgia boner, not the least because watching those old Westerns was one of my key bonding rituals with my dad.

There is that element of force as well that I really get off on. I enjoy both the idea and the experience of being thrown over a knee for a spanking. No meekly placing oneself over a lap, but being grabbed and forced into that position. Most of my experiences with OTK have been done this way and I just love that flutter I get in my belly when it happens. I feel more out of control, and I relish that feeling.

There's an intimacy to being over someone's knee that other spanking positions lack for me. You're close. You're touching. He can feel your every movement and you can feel his. That physical connection is maintained throughout the experience. And there's a vulnerability that seems special to this position. It's not a terribly stable position. Sometimes you might feel you might tumble off a lap. Sometimes, you might even try, but you're trapped by the strength of the spanker. You may want to get away but they won't let you. The only bonds holding you there are their arms, their hands.

I miss OTK spanking. It's been more than three years now, I think, since I've done it. I hope I get to do it again one day. Right now, it's not in the cards. I'm only allowed to play with women, and I'm really only comfortable doing it with a man I'm close to. OTK is a very intimate thing for me and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that type of intimacy with a woman. I also don't see my play partners possessing the kind of authority that makes the experience fun for me. There is also that part of me that's self conscious about my weight and I'm afraid of squishing someone's thighs.

Hopefully, sometime this year, I'll find myself over that one special knee I've been waiting on for nearly three years.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

e[Lust] #78

Malin James Elust 78 Header Image
Photo courtesy of Malin James

Welcome to Elust #78 -

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 #79? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Balance of Light
Advent Calendar 2015 - Day 24

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Why Sex Fiction?
On using him

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

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

Guest blog: ‘Quite Delightful’, James Deen and me
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

Make-Up Sex
Wide Open
Believe in You
I am softly athletic
Making a Short Story Long

Erotic Fiction

First Kiss
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
A Spicey Christmas Eve Tale…..
The Annual Christmas Party
If Only He'd Said Yes...
Very Very Necessary
Holly and Ivy...
Frothy White Stuff
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
30 Minutes

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Stress Makes You Blind and Your Cum Orange
On Eating Ass
Confessions of an Ambivalent Masochist
Joyous Jizz


Ode To My Favorite Sex Toy

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Lady Fapping: The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee
Does Size Matter?
A Feminist's Guide to Sexting with Cavemen

Erotic Non-Fiction

Having Angelic Sex With The Virgin Mary
New Lingerie


The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives
40. 41. One.
ELust Site Badge

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Blue Collar Bondage: Part 3: Kisses

Duke slipped on a pair of gloves and slid to the floor behind me, dragging leather-clad hands down over my ass. Gently, he began to knead each buttock, massaging the muscles with devilish expertise. It was almost a torture in and of itself, as I want to relax under his deft attentions, but the bite of the clamps, the stretch of the plug, and the steady pressure of the chain on my clit made that impossible. I let out another whimper.

He chuckled, brushing his fingers lightly over those sensitive spots to either side of my sex where belly met thigh. "Yep, we'll definitely have to make more of those sounds."

He moved his hands back down over my ass and up between the legs to stroke itch lip between thumb and forefinger. Then he squeezed them together around the chain, moving steadily upward. I squealed has he flicked the chain where it rested over my clit, sending vibrations thrumming through my body.

"There it is," he said in that smug way of his.

Gripping my hips firmly, Duke stood back up and wandered back over to the armoire. He pushed the dolly back, still topped with the other plugs, but it now also held a leather slapper, a small read flogger, and a small wooden paddle.

I pouted. "Awww, not the paddle..."

Duke looked up from the cart with narrowed eyes. I found myself spun around again and the pressure from the chain eased as he released it and let it fall to the floor. I squawked when he roughly pulled out the small plug and replaced it with a larger one. Satisfied with the placement, he retrieved the chain and fastened it back in place. I bit my lip against the slight but persistent pain of the plug.

Two sharps swats of the paddle landed low on my ass.

"Fuck!" I nearly stumbled as I came back around again.

Duke held the paddle up to my face. "Kiss it."

I tentatively pressed my lips to the smooth surface.

He turned it to lift my chin with the edge. "I will do as I please and you will do as you're told. Each time you misbehave, we will change the plug early. When we run out of plugs, we stop playing and I take what's mine. Understood?"

I nodded slowly.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Properly, Rabbit."

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he said, leaning down to press his lips to mine. I nipped at his lips, catching the lower one between my teeth. I sucked his lip gently, pressing my body into his. His free hand dropped to rest idly on my hip, large and warm against my skin.

"Ow!" I squeaked as the paddle crashed against my ass again.

"You are distracting me from my intended target, and we can't have that."

I sighed as he pulled away, mourning the loss of contact. He set the paddle aside and resumed his maddening caresses, sliding his hands down my shoulders, over my back, and across my belly. The leather of his gloves was soft and supple, smooth like silk against my skin. Every brush of his fingers brought out a sigh just short of a moan. Moving to the side of me, he slipped a hand beneath the chain low on my belly, pulling it tighter against the sensitive nub of flesh there. He pushed my hips back, bending me slightly at the waist, forcing me to my toes.

His hand landed on my ass with a muffled thwap. The leather softened the blow, leaving a tingle in its wake. I gasped softly as he continued this leisurely assault, peppering my ass with not-quite-stinging blows. I wanted to sink into the sensation, relax into to his skilled palms, but my calves and shoulders burned from the effort of holding myself up to him. When my knees began to wobble, he eased me back into my original position.

He came back into full view, taking up the red flogger from the dolly. It was one of mine, a fairly lightweight thing with perhaps a dozen or so falls of a lush suede. He ran it through his hands, gathering up the ends before flicking it at my nipple. The sharp movement snapped the clamp right off. Before the curse could escape my lips, he'd flicked off the other one too.

"Fuck!" I breathed as blood painfully rushed back to my nipples.

"Oops. They fell off. Don't worry. I'll fix that for you, Rabbit." He gave me a lopsided grin. I glared at him as he reattached the clamps.

He circled me, snapping the flogger against my breasts, deliberately leaving the clamps this time. He drew the falls over my shoulder, letting them brush over my skin and tickle their way down my back. It snapped against each shoulder blade once before he settled into a lazy figure-eight pattern. He tired of that quickly, moving steadily downward, back to his primary objective. Each lash bit into my cheeks with calculated precision, the sting of it reverberating through me. He played me like a drum, making me dance to his beat, as I twisted away from the sting or swayed with the pain.

Suddenly, he stopped, stepping in behind me, rubbing his hands over the stinging globes. I felt him kneel again and slide his hands between my thighs. Gently, he eased them apart until I held a wide stance. He rose again and the flogger landed solidly between then, snapping against my sex. I wobbled again, the vibrations from the chain nearly undoing me.


He pulled the chain hard against my clit from the back and slapped the flogger up again and again. The leather stung my sensitive lips, but beyond the pain, an intense throbbing was driving me mad. The chain pressed almost too hard against me, the sensations almost too intense. He picked up speed, spinning the flogger against the most tender part of me. He caught hold of me as I came and my legs buckled.

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

Monday, January 18, 2016

Unwavering: Part 1: The Asking

Unwavering is a prequel to Unmasked that I have decided to write in tandem with the Unmasked series. Unwavering takes place roughly 5 years prior to the events of Unmasked and covers the story of how Brunhild and Kirsa came to be mates. Admittedly, I've never written lesbian romance before, so we will see how this goes. 

It was strange how white they all were. Brunhild had never seen so many snow-haired wolves in one pack. They unnerved her with their ice-colored eyes, boring into her from all directions. She sat upon the furs, legs crossed like the other men. Her waist cloth looked little different from those they wore, though her brooch was silver while theirs were bone. The few women in the room knelt quietly off to the sides, in deer-hide dresses that tied behind their necks. None had the look of warriors. Women apparently weren't warriors in this pack. Well, that explained why so many of the men looked less than amused at her presence.

"I was saddened to hear of Tederich's death, but I am disappointed that his son did not come to me himself."

Brunhild pursed her lips as Hagan spoke. She could see the anger in his grey eyes. He was perhaps a decade older than her and had been alpha of his pack for about seven winters. He sported a full beard, but his hair was cropped unusually short. He was a severe looking man, frown lines permanently creasing his brow. When standing, he was half a hand shorter than Brunhild, but he made up for it with the thick muscle banding his arms and belly.

"It is a tumultuous time, as you well know. The Changing of Hands is a critical period in all packs. My brother must tend to our people. It is his hope that I might provide an adequate substitute." Brunhild took a deep breath, her chest pressing against the wide strap binding her breasts.

Hagan's eyes narrowed a fraction. "You are not even a beta."

She felt her men stiffen along with her. "There are three adjacent packs and two betas. I am daughter of Tederich, sister of Rodrick, and a respected delta of my pack. I cannot help if my acting in my brother's stead is of insult to you, but I will not apologize for it. I simply ask on behalf of my brother that you attend the Changing as our father attended yours."

The corner of the alpha's mouth lifted slightly as he noted their collective discomfort. "I will consider it. You are, of course, offered hospitality until such time as I deliver my answer. You are dismissed."

They rose together, energy sparking between them as they pound a fist to their chests and nodded to the alpha. They filed out of the hall, Brunhild at their head. A group of women passed by them as they walked out. Apparently like everyone else in this pack, they were all snow and silver, clad in richly dyed hide dresses. The woman that led their little troupe was of middling height, neither tall nor short. Straight white hair framed her heart-shaped face cascading down her back like a milky waterfall. She was a perfect hourglass, with a generous chest and wide hips joined by a thick, well-defined waist. She looked up at Brunhild as she passed and smiled politely. Her eyes were neither grey nor blue, but somewhere in between. Brunhild nodded back at her, trying not to frown.

"I'll consider it," she mocked, as they came back to the long house Hagan had provided for their stay. She punched one of the thick logs that made up the wall, growling at the pain that shot up her arm. "I have always hated that lofty mutt. He's been an ass for as long as I can remember."

"It can't be helped," said Sigmund, crossing his arms. "He's the northern alpha. The three reigning alphas always attend the Changing of Hands. There is no point in the asking, but custom is custom."

Brunhild clenched her fist and shoved her braids out of her face. "Yes, and my brother's brilliant plan was to send me to the one pack that has no female warriors. Hagan's derision was palpable."

Sigmund sighed. "Rodrick trusts you more than any other wolf in the world. If Hagan knew that, he would not be so offended."

Brunhild rolled her eyes. Sigmund was of her father's age, sent to lend her credibility, she assumed. He was tall and broad, an elder copy of his son, Jurgen, her brother's closest friend. He was bald, with light brown eyes, and a black goatee that enhanced his strong jaw. He'd been something of an uncle to her and her brother. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about him shadowing her on this mission. She didn't need her hand held like a pup.

"Hagan would be dismissive of anyone save Rodrick himself, even though he damn well knows the new alpha does not do the asking." She lowered herself to sit on a pallet.

"Hagan will accept. Anything else would be a declaration of war. He's just lording his authority over us while he can. He knows we stand between him and the Kin. Gods know he's not going to go raiding anytime soon. If he alienates us, he loses access to the spoils." He looked at her a bit sideways. "The important thing, is to not do anything stupid while we are here."

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You were staring really hard at that girl outside the hall."

Brunhild blinked. "What girl?"

Sigmund cocked an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Just take my advice. Leave that one alone. Word is Hagan has his eyes on her."

"Poor girl. I wouldn't fuck that man for the world."

Sigmund snorted. "Those words mean very little since you wouldn't fuck any man for the world."

Brunhild lay back on the pallet, waving at him dismissively. "Technicalities."

She rolled to face the wall as Sigmund and the others milled about the longhouse, tending to their personal tasks. Sigmund's warning was unnecessary. Sure the woman at the hall was appealing, but it wasn't like Hagan would give her any one of his women. She had no illusions of that. No one except her packmates would interpret her looks as anything untoward. Hagan couldn't conceive of a female delta, let alone female mates. They would wait for Hagan to deign to give his assent, and then they would go home.

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Ghosts of Lovers Past

There are moments on those cold, lonely nights, that I swear I can still feel her. The warmth from her body lingers in my sheets. The scent of her hair is on my pillows. Sometimes, in the corner of my eye, I see the flash of her pale skin reflected in the the glass. I often wonder what might have been. But she is a ghost now. A spirit of longing, ever-taunting me with the elusive shadows of her presence.

Sinful Sunday

Thursday, January 14, 2016

A Handful of Kisses

My experiences with kissing are fairly similar to my experiences with sex; minimal and largely disappointing. But, of course, much like with sex, I was never very traditional with kissing. There was no high school sweetheart. No first kiss in the back of some teenager's car. My first kiss was with a married woman I'd met on FetLife when I went to spend the weekend with her and her husband.

I am extremely conflicted about this.

I can almost count the number of people I've kissed on one hand. If I count the couple as one, I can manage on one hand. More accurately, I've kissed six people in total, consisting of two women and four men. Alas, I only found the act arousing with one of those people. I think I once found this unusual, but now that I think about it, the reasoning is fairly obvious.

We can knock out the women right here. They were technically very skilled, but as we all know from my previous posts, I am Hetero Girl, so the lack of chemistry there was simply an issue of incompatible sexuality, although I didn't know it at the time. I might also have once blamed it on my newly discovered demisexuality, but I have had emotional connections with multiple people on the list.

Well, let me give you the list in chronological order.

Mr. and Mrs. Professor
Sir Ninnyhammer (he will hate me if he ever reads this, hehe)
Lizard Guy

Among these, the only one I was ever in a romantic relationship was Drake, my ex dom, which was the only person I've ever truly enjoyed kissing. Mr. Professor was nice, but we were mostly strangers then. I've known Sir Ninnyhammer since we were children, and I was even interested in him in our younger years, but kissing him for real was always just this side of awkward. Perhaps the relationship element is what made it for me, but something I've also noticed is that the other three men were poly and had primary relationships at the time. While I play with poly people, I've never truly been comfortable going to intimate places with them, and kissing seems more intimate than a lot of things.

I can't really speak much for skill. I don't really have a frame of reference. However, I can recognize when someone is completely terrible. That, of course, would be Lizard Guy, who is, unfortunately the last person I've ever kissed. This guy would literally not stop moving his tongue. I don't know if it was the wagging tongue, the taste of cigarette smoke in his beard, or the fact that he was in a poly relationship with one of my friends, but after being orally assaulted by this guy, I promptly went home and threw up.

I never had that kind of visceral reaction to the others. I didn't have much reaction at all. My heart wasn't in it, and their hearts weren't mine. I do believe have the ability to get wrapped up in a man, to find the act of kissing arousing. I've just rarely had the opportunity.

This lack of experience has perhaps made kissing less of a part of my sexuality. I rarely think of including it in my erotica or romantic stories. No part of my romantic or sexual history fits what one my categorize as normal, and that has inevitably skewed my perspective on all of it.

I hope one day I get to experience what kissing is supposed to be, what all the stories and movies and songs make it out to be. Heh, making out.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Unmasked: Part 14: A New Friend

“This is the village square. Many people live in the fortress, but some choose to live in the village. The artisans tend to prefer outdoor work spaces.” His words were for Constantina, but he kept his eyes on Brunhild. Constantina wasn’t looking at him anyway, more concerned with the people milling about in varying degrees of nudity. “We are the largest pack in the area. There are others to the east and west of here. They often visit on festival days. We also have an indoor marketplace which you will see tonight.”

The girl was gaping at his twin by the time they reached her. Brunhild was nearly of a height with him. His sister’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at the smaller woman and walked a predatory circle about her. His eyes traveled to Kirsa, perched on the edge of the well. Kirsa, while taller than his Kin, was similarly plump with straight white hair and grey-blue eyes, which she was now rolling at her mate’s posturing. A pleasant expression returned to her heart-shaped face as Brunhild turned toward her again.

“Pilfering pups now, are we, brother?”

Rodrick shrugged. “I didn’t steal her. She was a gift.”

Kirsa cast Constantina a sympathetic look over Brunhild’s shoulder. He looked down at her. The girl looked vaguely annoyed.

“Constantina, this is my sister, Brunhild, and her mate, Kirsa.”

A small frown briefly passed over her face as she considered his words.

Brunhild noted the expression, snorting indelicately. "Let me guess, Kin only have breeding pairs?"

Constantina frowned again, looking away thoughtfully. "I don't know."

Brunhild frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

Constantina blinked a few times. "I've lived in a garden for the past nine harvests. I honestly don't know how unions work. I never made it that far."

Nine harvests? He peered at her. "How old are you?"

She looked thoughtful again, like she wasn't quite sure of the answer. "This coming harvest will be my twentieth, I think."

Both Brunhild and Kirsa looked horrified. He couldn't say that he wasn't equally appalled. Her curious manners made sense now. She lacked the stiff formality of the other Kin. There was a brutal honesty to her that he hadn't expected. He now realized it was because she'd had no reason to lie. Perhaps she had no one to lie to. Although, he wondered at her language. He'd never really heard a Kin speak in quite the same way. Even if her people hadn't imparted their etiquette, he couldn't imagine they would have replaced it with the crassness she had managed to display in his short possession of her.

Kirsa clapped her hands. "Perhaps we might continue this over a meal?

Brunhild grunted her assent and they followed Kirsa toward a tavern. As they walked, he noted Brunhild staring at the mark he had left on Constantina's shoulder. She peered at it for an uncomfortably long period of time before scowling fiercely at him. Rodrick rolled his eyes. It wasn't like his sister had any moral high ground on him there. Fortunately, she kept whatever thoughts she had to herself for now. Ever the peacemaker, Kirsa deposited them at one of the low tables that littered the floor of the tavern and swayed off to order food.

Conna took her seat on the furs next to Rodrick, feeling utterly confused. These creatures were an anomaly. At moments, they seemed wholly civilized. Her captor lived in a fortress with beautiful colored glass panes in the windows. He even had a desk piled with books and papers. He'd fed her dishes with complex favors on trenchers. And yet, they retained this wildness that contradicted all she'd seen. She could see it in the eyes of the people who'd stared at her. She could certainly see it in the carefree way many of them walked about without a stitch of clothing on, as well as in the ferocity of the men who fought in the fields.

The woman Rodrick had called his sister looked anything but civilized. She dressed much the same as Rodrick, like a man, Conna supposed, but for the strap containing her chest. She was tall like Rodrick and had the same golden eyes. Her belly was similarly muscled, but her waist was narrower by virtue of her sex. They even had the same hair, although hers was longer and contained in dozens of braids. She kept glaring at Conna and back at Rodrick.

Rodrick cleared his throat. "You'll set us ablaze with those looks of yours, Brunhild."

Brunhild let out something of a growl. "It would serve you right if that were true."

Conna snorted. "Indeed it would," she muttered in the tongue of the Kin.

Brunhild's gaze slid back to her with less anger and more surprise. At that moment, the one called Kirsa bustled back over and deposited tankards of mead on the table. Rodrick grabbed one and took a drink.

"I believe we discussed the mumbling not too long ago." He said, sitting the cup down carefully but not looking at her.

Conna leaned her elbow on the table. "If you can't understand me, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

Brunhild and Kirsa were silent, looking nervously between them. Rodrick took another drink.

"You are, of course, assuming that I cannot understand you. and, I assure you, you would be wrong."

Conna's eyes widened as the familiar words left his lips. She shrank in on herself, heat rising in her cheeks.

He finally looked at her, eyes flashing dangerously. "You were sequestered for half of your life and yet you speak our tongue.  I rule my people. What made you think I wouldn't speak yours?"

She just stared at the table. She wanted to go back to her garden with her dirt and her plants. Plants were easy. They did what she wanted. They weren't demanding. They didn't bombard her with confusing feelings, or dress her in all but nothing, or threaten to beat her. All they did was grow peacefully with her gentle nudging.

As if reading her thoughts, a delicate, tanned hand slid a bowl of grapes into her line of vision. Conna looked up to see Kirsa smiling gently at her.

"I asked you a question," Rodrick said, his voice hard.

"Oh, stuff it, Rodrick!" Kirsa said.

Rodrick blinked in surprise.

Brunhild looked murderous. "Kirsa!"

"You too," Kirsa said, snatching up the bowl of grapes and Conna's hand. "We are going outside. You two can sit here and growl at each other until you are better company."

Brunhild stood as Kirsa dragged Conna toward the door. "Girl, I'm going to--"

Kirsa cut her off. "Of that, I have no doubt, but right now, you are going to talk to your brother."

With that, Conna found herself outside again, holding a bowl of grapes in her hands.

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

Saturday, January 9, 2016

Dancer in Red

I took this image to accompany a fiction post earlier this week, but I liked it so much, I decided to throw up a color version for Sinful Sunday. I've always loved the whole slave dancer aesthetic (as if you didn't know). A lot of my dance costumes are inspired by that slave dress design. I have a box full of these filmy scarves in different colors and I enjoy turning them into costumes. I'm rather fond of this shot because it's one of those where I don't hate the way my belly looks, and that's always a good day. 
Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Pocket Domme by Mistress Peach

So, I and the rest of my lovely quartet of kinky bitches are also some super geeks. Peach, being the only actual dominant among us was labeled our "pocket dom." Then something wonderfully nerdy happened, and I'd like to share it with you. If you are unfamiliar with Pokemon, I suggest listening to the video and then reading the lyrics.

I wanna be the very best
Like no Domme ever was
To spank them is my real test
To flog them is my cause

I would travel in pink high heels
Grinning like a loon
'Cause beating folks is quite a steal
And puts a tingle in my poon

Gotta spank 'em all!
They cry and squee
And say "oh please don't smack me!'
Pain never ends
'Cause the paddle's my best friend

Gotta spank 'em all!
A welt and bruise
Your booty I'll gladly use
You sneer at me, I'll fuck with you

Gotta spank 'em
Gotta spank 'em all

~ by Mistress Peach~

Monday, January 4, 2016

Unmasked: Part 13: Venturing Out

The frown she gave him when he took the blanket was positively adorable. Perhaps he might have left her to her meager attempts at modesty, but he enjoyed the sight of her too much. And Jurgen was right. She would have to get used to the sight of skin. He stood, giving her an eyeful of it, and took a waist cloth from a nearby chest. It was a simple garment of tanned elk hide, soft and supple. It hung just past his knees as he wrapped it about his waist and pinned it at the hip with a silver brooch. Constantina simply stared at him from her seat on the bed. He watched her back, deftly braiding the hair at his temples to keep it out of his face. The look on her face was hard to interpret. It fell somewhere between fear and arousal. He could smell both. It was a heady concoction.

"Stand, please." he said, taking a stack of folded cloth from the chest.


He arched a brow. "Do you want clothes or not?"

She glared briefly, but stood. Rodrick unfurled a swath of fabric the color of oak leaves in Spring. She seemed confused by the seamless length. He knelt before her and expertly wrapped it about her hips, leaving two panels in front and back to drape to her ankles. The wrapped portion extended from just above her navel to a hand's width below where buttock met thigh. The second bit of fabric was briefer and narrower than the other. He wound it around her chest, tying the ends behind her neck.

She looked down at herself and frowned. "Where is the rest of it?"

He lifted his brow again and gestured to his own minimal attire. Her frown deepened as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Don't. You look lovely."

"Even pretty lies are still false."

He landed a sharp smack on her ass, propelling her toward the door. "I do not appreciate the implication that I am a liar."

"I don't really appreciate the hand print on my ass," she mumbled.

He touched her lightly on the shoulder. "We can always add more. I have the time." He leaned in closer, his stubble brushing against her ear. "I also have excellent hearing." She shivered. "My kind are blessed with heightened senses. You might consider that before you commence with your muttering. It will save you some trouble."

"Trouble with you?"

"Your conflict won't always be with me, but it will inevitably be resolved by me. Now," he waved toward the door, "I can show you the village," he pointed toward a chair near the desk, "or you can become better acquainted with my hand. Your choice."

Her gaze lingered on the chair a bit longer than he thought she might have intended. That was promising. Perhaps he should oblige that gaze before she inevitably chose the door. He started pulling her toward the chair.

She dug in her heels. "The village is fine."

He stopped, looking at her. A frown had settled on her face, but she still looked at the chair while trying to tug her arm free of his grip. He should heed her gaze, take her there and clear away that beautiful confusion darkening her brow. But a choice was a choice, so he changed course for the door.

"No shoes?" she said, looking down at their feet.

"We only wear them in winter or when traveling. Armor and boots make it difficult to change quickly, so they aren't worn very often. They are mostly for engaging with other peoples, like the Kin. If you find you need them, I will find you a pair of sandals." He tucked her arm into the crook of his and led her from the room.

They moved wordlessly down the flights of stairs he'd carried her up the night before. The stone steps were cool against his calloused feet. He briefly wondered how it felt to the girl on his arm, a girl who had likely never gone barefoot outside of her bedroom before. She seemed relatively unperturbed by her bare feet, but her hair was hopelessly disheveled from their nocturnal activities. He stopped again in the middle of a hallway, moving behind her to unravel the messy braid. She shivered when he ran his fingers through her hair. Interesting.

When he finished, she looked wonderfully wild. Cascades of rich brown hair fell about her shoulders in soft waves. The ends floated about her hips, brushing against her with every movement. He immediately regretted not loosing her hair last night. Then again, there was always tonight to think about.

It wasn't long before they encountered some of his people going about their morning routines. Men and women wandered past, some clothed like them, others unabashedly nude. Numerous eyes openly stared at the woman at his side. It was a bit rude, but he supposed he couldn't blame them. An unmasked Kin was the rarest of sights. An unmasked Kin dressed like a wolf and walking at his side would have been even more remarkable. Constantina had noticed their scrutiny, or perhaps their nudity, as her eyes were fastened firmly to the floor. She looked rather sullen, gazing at the ground while attempting to hide her bare middle with her arms.

The sounds of fighting erupted around  them as they finally emerged into the courtyard. Most of the fighting men were arranged around the courtyard squaring off in pairs. Some wore leather and scales, sparring with blades. Others faced each other as the hulking wolves that were their other selves. Others, still, stood bare beneath the sky, moving seamlessly between forms. Constantina watched them with wide eyes. Her shock made him want to join the fray. He had never considered himself overly prideful, but he was not above showing off for a woman. He managed to resist the urge. There would be time for that later.

The girl continued to stare as they passed by. The men ignored them. There had been the briefest of hesitations when they first arrived, but once they had determined there was no threat, sparring resumed. Many of the fighters on the field would be at Council in a few hours to discuss the woman beside him. He could hear the uproar already. He could even feel his sister’s disapproving gaze boring into him.

There was a good reason for that. Brunhild stood in the village square, glaring at him with his own eyes. She wore a pinned waist cloth much like his own. A wide leather strap was tied around her chest, containing her moderately sized breasts and providing the smallest hint of modesty. The ensemble left her impressive physique on display. She was all broad shoulders and lean muscle framed by black and silver braids that fell around her shoulders. To any other, such a woman with a tic in that strong jaw and the hard glint in her golden eyes would be a frightening sight.

Rodrick simply walked toward her.

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

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Lady Godiva

Sinful Sunday

Truth be told, nearly all of my photography here uses windows as a light source. My phone takes much better pictures when I use natural light over artificial. While both images have filters, I really am naturally the color of paper, and natural light really brings that out.

Probably my favorite feature about myself is my hair. I started growing it back out when I started dancing. I have often jokingly called it Repunzel hair. However, today, I'm invoking the legend of Lady Godiva as I perch nude before my window, using my hair to cover all the important bits so as to not give the elderly neighbor a heart attack.

Friday, January 1, 2016

Lady Fapping: The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee

Over the course of my 5.5ish year stint on the kinky side of the internet, I can't help but notice a certain preoccupation of the human race with the dimensions of one's genitalia. According to Dr. Webbernets, males are supposed to be equipped with ginormous schlongs and females with compact twatular regions. Personally, this seems like poor mechanical design to me. I mean, sure, motion of the ocean and all that, but it's really hard to park an ocean liner in a river dock.

An approximation of what I can look forward to in strap-on
compatible dong form!
Unfortunately, Daddy is an ocean liner and I'm the river dock.

I've always been a touch nervous about this particular aspect of the relationship, especially since we've yet to...ah...consummate the relationship. My ex was of an average length and width, which proved taxing enough in my virginal state. Back when we were simply writing companions, I used to joke with Daddy that we could never be together because he'd kill me with his dick.  I'm still half afraid that he's going to kill me with the baseball bat between his legs, and that has influenced my masturbatory efforts.

I never dreamed I'd have to practice that. It seems ridiculous to me that while people rave about the benefits of Ben Wa Balls and Kegels, I'm over here shopping for a dildo version of an anal training kit. Because, Lord knows, I don't need to be tighter.

Hotdog down a hallway? Try cucumber through a straw.

So, as a result of dealing with the prospect of the U.S.S. Dicktanic, I have attempted to purchase some phallic friends to prepare for docking.

Big Boy's size relative to Little Brother (bottom) and Pink
Thunder, (top)
My first mistake was starting from the top. All of my toys up to the point I decided to do this were of an average size. I'm talking about  5-7 in. (~13-18 cm) insertible with a girth of 1-1.25 in. (~2.5-3.2 cm). In my fatal optimism, I bought a silicone monster that was as close to his size as I could find, about 8 in. (20.3 cm) long and 2 in. (~5 cm) wide, insertible. Which turned out to be a hilarious thing to whip out at parties, but not terribly useful in my quest to...broaden my horizons. It's so rigid and cold that I have never been able to fit more than 3 inches no matter how much I prep.

Prior to determining the uselessness of it, however, I bought a transitional piece at a Pure Romance party, clocking in at a whopping 1.75 in. (~4.44 cm) wide. I probably sound ridiculous and you're all probably sitting there thinking "That's not that big." Well, it is. Or I have a super tiny vagina. Either way, when you read the obituary titled Death by Dickzilla, know that I tried. I tried really hard.

Anyway, Pink Thunder here was a smidgen less intimidating to my lady parts, as I apparently have his little brother that I got at a Passion Party. What's the difference between the two, you ask? Nothing. Literally nothing besides the name. They sell the same stuff and you play the same boring vanilla party game where you admit to doing vanilla sex stuff and sit in people's laps. Or, rather, hover awkwardly in a half squat over their lap. And buy dildos that look eerily similar to the dildo you bought at the other one. Only bigger!

I made the attempt to use Little Brother, Pink Thunder, and Big Boy to sort of run a graduating train on myself after soaking them in hot water. Pink Thunder was a rousing, if moderately uncomfortable, success, but Big Boy has since been relegated to a Ziploc baggy in my dick duffel. I can't even with that thing. I just can't.

From left to right: Pink Thunder, Fuktion Cup, and Little
As it also turns out, 1.2 in. (~3 cm) to 1.75 in. (~4.44 cm) is still a fair bit of a challenge. Therefore, I've only really played with Pink Thunder a few times. I've since unwittingly bought the missing link in my chain of tools, in the remarkably squishy Fuktion Cup (I did not name this. It was on the package.). I didn't really know how big it was when I bought it, so I found it a bit disappointing when it hurt on the first attempt. It ended up measuring about 1.5 in. (~3.8 cm) in girth, which is apparently a bit of a leap after exclusively using a Hitachi for about 8 months to a year. Use it or lose it, ladies.

With the Fuktion Cup's addition, I now have a nice array of dick gradients with which to prepare for the Monster in my future. Moving up in nice little .25 in. ( ~.63 cm) increments. Eventually I might get around to fucking my way up the ladder I've built, once I've tired of riding my shiny new glass friends, that is.