Thursday, May 4, 2017

Factory Defect

One of the recurring features of my erotica, seems to be a scene that includes cunnilingus. Prior to writing these scenes, I'd only experienced the act personally once, and it wasn't good. Dude bit me...hard. Ow. But, I have a pretty decent imagination, so I could craft an oral sex scene capable of turning myself on. I'm actually pretty proud of those scenes. They're typically the first sexual scenes in my stories as I'm a bit of a foreplay whore and it takes me forever to develop the plot to full on intercourse.

I've since discovered in the last several months, that I don't actually like receiving oral sex. I've long imagined what it would feel like to experience it with someone who actually knew what they were doing. I finally got around to doing just that and...I hated it. It only happened a few times, but each time, it was uncomfortable and sometimes painful.

I had trouble coming to grips with this. I thought there was something wrong with me. It was something I was supposed to enjoy. A lot of women talk about how they get mad if a man refuses to reciprocate on oral sex. I felt bad that my partner was trying to do something to please me and all I wanted was for it to stop. I didn't say that though. I didn't want to deprive him of his pleasure.

I think my body must be weird. My clitoris is pretty deep set anyway, so having to be parted to get to it is very uncomfortable. I'm also not terribly fond of pinpoint stimulation. I can't stand the tiny finger-shaped bullets because of this. I prefer broader coverage.

I've been assured by others that I'm not defective because I don't like it. I've seen plenty of women online claim they hate it, but I still feel like it's something I'm supposed to enjoy. For many it's the fastest way to orgasm. For me, it's never going to happen. I can't blame my partner. I'm sure on anyone else, it would have been a fantastic experience, it just doesn't seem to be a form of stimulation that works for me. I never addressed the subject with him because I didn't want to make him feel bad.

I'll probably still write the scenes in my stories. They're always nice. I just probably won't be requesting the activity in future relationships. I'm perfectly okay without it.

Saturday, March 11, 2017


Mr. Gray, the sad little tom that
lives on my mom's porch.
I think amicable splits are the hardest to process. At least when a relationship ends badly, you can rage and vent without a care to the feelings of the other person. But when it ends with a hug and a suggestion to hang out, what do you do with your emotions then?

I don't know how to do this. Sad is just a woefully inadequate word to describe how I feel. Devastated is more apt. Confused is also applicable. I mean, he explained himself pretty clearly, but my brain can't process it. It's not like past relationships where things got gradually worse until the end was almost a relief.

No, this is traveling along a scenic road with the top down on a perfect day, with the wind in your hair and the sun on your skin...and then suddenly tumbling over a cliff you never saw. Everything was great. Five months of affection, care, intimacy, fun, and adventure. Then suddenly it's over.

He was kind about it. He did it properly. In person, sweetly. That doesn't make it any less painful. Somehow I think it makes it more so. I know he put a six month trial period on the whole thing, but everything was going so wonderfully well, I didn't expect this to happen. I secretly feared it after a particular conversation a few months ago, but I was not prepared for this. Just Tuesday, he was at my house in my arms, stroking my face an hair.  Thursday, I go to bed happy, looking forward to the weekend, then wake up to him at my door.

I managed to contain myself to a few silent tears, and avoid the angry hysterics in my head. You know how I hate to cry in front of others. I was thoroughly confused by the time he left because he was so kind about it all, and perhaps because I couldn't bring myself to believe it was happening, that after he left, I had to clarify through text what he'd intended with that conversation.

I cried for a good two hours.

He had mentioned possibly seeing a movie this weekend, which is why I was confused. I don't think I can do that yet. I don't know how to be with him without being WITH him yet. I don't know how to be around him without all the affectionate little touches, hugs, kisses. I don't know how lose the whole Daddy/kitten dynamic.

I don't know what I'm doing yet. The thought of trying to find someone who lives up to the standard he set is daunting.

In short, I'm really fucking sad right now.

Monday, February 20, 2017

How Do I Love Thee?

With Christmas and our birthday gift exchanging out of the way for the year, I've been reflecting on my gifting habits and my methods of communication in general. It got me thinking about the 5 love languages and how I express myself through them.

I took one of those online quizzes to figure out my love languages.

  • 10 Physical Touch 
  • 9 Quality Time 
  • 5 Words of Affirmation
  • 3 Acts of Service
  • 3 Receiving Gifts

I'm completely unsurprised that my primary love language is touch. I've always been more of a physical communicator in romantic relationships. It's funny to me that this is the case, since I generally eschew touch from most others. But with a partner, I'm like a needy cat who always wants to lay in your lap at the most inconvenient times. I crave physical affection like some sort of addict. I jump at every chance for contact. I relish every pet and caress.

I also kind of hate that he's built this little fort of stuff around his favorite spot at his house. He has a little makeshift computer station in front of his seat. The other side of the love seat is more like a tray for various convenience items like tissues, cigarettes, and a bowl of snacks. I'm relegated to the couch, where I wait for occasional head pets. Which are nice, don't get me wrong, but I am, at the very heart of me, a lap cat.

Shot from our latest shutterbugging
The prominence of quality time is also unsurprising. I'm always looking forward to the next visit. I measure time in days til I see him next. It helps me get through the work week. My productiveness has decreased a bit, because my focus has shifted, but I do so enjoy it when we spend time together. We often go for drives down the old scenic highways and take pictures of abandoned buildings and various bits of nature. We'll go to the movies, often animated ones, and munch on popcorn while I lean on his shoulder. A couple weekends ago, we broke our usual routine and played video games for the first time together. It was fun, and I'm honestly surprised we hadn't done it before.

Words of affirmation are less important to me, although I enjoy it when he lets me know that I have pleased him. I have had to work on expressing my appreciation verbally, as I'm often more physically expressive. This is primarily a coping mechanism of my anxiety disorder where I avoid speaking in order to avoid embarrassing myself. It's been rather cathartic now that I think about it, to delve into the Little mindset where I can sort of figure out how to reverse compulsions instilled in me as a child. Sometimes though, I have to go back to other languages as some verbal expressions aren't right yet.

Acts of service is naturally low, as far as receiving. I am less interested in receiving acts of service than I am giving. Although, I can see this also being a little low due to the fact that I enjoy having acts of service requested of me. I enjoy doing things on my own as well, but I am less confident about acting independently in someone else's space. I don't want to disrupt Daddy's space without knowing how he wants stuff done, so I prefer to wait for instruction there. Daddy does a lot of things for me. Just this week he bought me an antenna for my TV so I could watch something that didn't require an internet connection. I really enjoy his nurturing form of dominance.

I'm not surprised receiving gifts was so low, but I was surprised that gift giving didn't factor into the equation, because I would have thought that would have been part of it also. I like receiving gifts, like most people, but it's not an important aspect of a relationship for me. And I still hesitate to ask or rather accept offers to buy what I consider to be expensive things from Daddy. I don't like to be a burden or impose on anyone, and I grew up being trained to be as financially unobtrusive as possible with other people's money. However, I've always been a vigilant giver.

I never really ask people what they want for any specific holiday, unless it's some relative I rarely see and know nothing about, but am obligated to give to because of holidays. For personal relationships, I see gift giving as a sort of challenge.  I want it to be a surprise, and I want it to be deeply personal.

I've done this with every significant other I've had. I remember the first gifts I gave to my first dom for Christmas. He had casually mentioned an interest in voodoo, so I bought him a book on Voudun, which looked fairly credible to me. He didn't end up terribly interested in that, but I had also found him a rare retro video game he had mentioned previously which got a better reaction.

With my long distance master, I had very few ways of showing affection, so I tended to go overboard with the gift giving at Christmas and birthdays. The first year, I painted him something, since he didn't want me spending a lot. He had mentioned being a Conan the Barbarian nut, so I sent a miniature replica of the Atlantean sword from the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. The next Christmas I sent an array of things, but the main gift was a hand made Minion doll in a maid's outfit I'd gotten at a local craft fair due to his love of minions. The last Christmas, I sent a Dragon Ball Z coffee mug that changed colors with heat. The last two years, I even sent his kids some small gifts personalized based on information I got from him.

 Daddy has been an interesting new challenge for gifting. I mentally scroll through my archives of information that I've gathered, and try to come up with ideas. I was quite proud of my selections. I told my mother what I got him for Christmas, one of those large coffee table type books on The Art of the Classic Car. She responded with "And...?"

Apparently my tendency to go overboard with gifts precedes me.

I was so excited about the birthday gift I got him, that I purchased it over a month before his birthday. One of the first things I noticed upon first visiting his home was a curio cabinet full of beautiful glass clocks, cordial glasses, and antique silver dinnerware, and a collection of antique cigarette holders. So I scoured the internet until I found an ox bone cigarette holder from the early 1900s complete with the original leather case. It wasn't a very elaborate piece, but interesting just the same. I'll have to work hard to top it in future.

It's been interesting topic to muse about. It's helped me learn more about how I express myself. It also gives me insight into how those I interact with show affection too.

What's your love language?

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Playing Pretend

My little Valentine for myself.

For as long as I can remember, my favorite game has always been playing pretend. When I was a kid, this involved games with friends, with sticks, balls, rocks, chalk, and plushies to help play out our little scenes. Or, if I was alone, it involved little play sets and figurines, or dolls, although I wasn't much of a doll girl.

I do remember some of my favorite toys though. I grew up in the days of Polly Pocket and the various knockoffs. I don't remember if I had a legit Polly Pocket set, but I did have similar miniature doll cases. I even had a Pokemon one that had a little Pikachu to play with in it. I also stole the pieces from my Pokemon Monopoly game so I could have more characters.

Polly Pocket Trendmasters Castle (1994)
But, by far, my favorites were these three tiny castles. I remember a pink and a purple one (the one pictured to the right), but I don't remember the color of the third. They opened into two connected halves, with little floors and rooms inside to place the tiniest of figurines in. I would use the Pokemon in these too, because I'm that kind of nerd.

I've been thinking about those more lately, as I delve deeper into this whole Little thing. Today I bought myself a little plushy unicorn from the Valentine's section at the store. I clutched it as I wandered through the toy isles while I waited on my car to be serviced. I looked at the dolls and the little toys, and wished I could find a tiny little castle like the ones I used to have.

My playing pretend has long since evolved into the more adult form of writing fiction. My games are more elaborate and end up on paper. But, I do miss my tiny castles. If there had been a tiny castle at the store today, I'm fairly sure I would have bought it. I also may or may not be currently trolling Amazon for a suitable replacement.

I hadn't thought about those castles in a long time. I'd never really considered the little thing prior to this relationship because it wasn't something my previous owners were interested in despite my also calling them Daddy. It's actually pretty nice. It's a comfortable place. I don't feel like he's going to stare at me like I've grown a second head when the childlike aspects of my personality pop out.

I imagine he'll smile when he reads about my tiny castles. Sometimes it's nice to not be weird.

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

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Three's a Crowd

Gimme all the attention.

I have never been shy about the fact that I am not remotely about the group sex. I am a pure monogamist in my soul, a subject that I have addressed frequently on this blog. There is often a prevailing expectation within the BDSM community of some form of nonmonogamy, be it polyamory, open relationships, or casual threesomes at the very least. It goes hand in hand with the expectation of bisexuality, particularly among submissive females. 

I have encountered those in the past that believe that as a slave, I should fully expect any owner I have to have sex with others or for him to expect me to have sex with others. The expectation of monogamy is seen by these types as "controlling the owner's dick," because, I mean, God forbid monogamous men/owners exist too.

I'm always very up front with potential partners about my expectation of monogamy and my utter disinterest in nonmonogamous sex. I'm not bisexual, so MFF would be utterly pointless, and I can't even stomach the thought of having sex with more than one man at a time, so MFM is out.

However, in my early days in the lifestyle, I did come close to an MFF threesome twice. I've never really counted them, as we didn't really have sex.

The first occasion was actually both my first kinky experience and my first sexual experience. I've mentioned the couple that initiated me into kink before. The night consisted of my first kiss and my first beating. I however remained half clothed the whole time like the terrified virgin I was. The couple did have sex with each other while I laid next to them in the bed, but I don't believe that counts since I wasn't really a participant.

The second occasion was with my first dom, who pressured me into asking a friend to have a threesome with us. We ended up doing a number of things, but no one ended up having sex because my friend and I weren't nearly as comfortable with the situation as we might have hoped.

It was largely through these two encounters, call them threesomes if you want, that I confirmed my heterosexuality. It also reinforced my general possessiveness. I don't like sharing my owner. I'm utterly enthralled by my partner. I have no extra space to worry about someone else in the mix. Sometimes I barely have the attention span for one. I have a tendency to go a bit brain dead when I'm being touched.

I'm really not one for sharing attention on either side of a sexual encounter. Is all mine.

Monday, January 16, 2017


This would probably come as a surprise to most people, but I am 26 years old and have never once owned a pair of high heels. This is partly due to the fact that they are horrendous torture devices and I like comfortable shoes. It's also partly due to the fact that the shoe industry hates people with wide feet, so finding a pair of cute shoes, heeled or otherwise for my chubby hobbit hooves is damned near impossible.

Wide shoes are the rarest of beasts. Wide heels are the fucking unicorns of the shoe world.

I am, however, a dancer, and spend a great deal of time in relevé (raising of the body on the points or demi-pointes). As a belly dancer who dances barefoot, this would be demi-pointe as my feet are not strong enough for a full pointe even in block shoes. Basically what this means is I spend a fair portion of my dancing in imaginary heels.

There is also a portion of the belly dance world that dances in heels. This is particularly popular in Turkish and Lebanese belly dance. Many belly dancers across the world do wear some form of shoes, but many also perform in these phantom heels made of air.

I often wonder, because I've never danced in heels, how one would perform certain steps and turns with a heel in the way.

Heels have never factored into my kink life. I'd have to find a pair that fit first. In the meantime, I'll content myself with flats and dancing on air.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Serve First

Long time no see, reader peoples. Along with general holiday craziness, Daddy and I have been laid up with winter plague. He was the first to succumb to what in the American South is known as "the crud," which is a delightful colloquialism for a head cold and conditions of a similar nature. I fell victim about a week later.

I spent New Year's weekend caring for my malarial master, despite the almost guarantee that I would also get sick. He was concerned that would happen. I didn't really care if I did or not. It was the first real opportunity I had for domestic service beyond simply fetching a drink when he would shove an empty glass at me.

I arrived quietly, armed with four cans of chicken noodle soup, two boxes of tissues, and a bottle of Mountain Dew (his soda of choice). He had advised me to let him sleep if he was doing so when I arrived, so I went about picking up trash and dishes and cleaning up the kitchen.

It's interesting, trying to navigate someone else's kitchen without guidance. I hadn't really been given any sort of domestic tasks in his home before. We typically switch off who cooks based on who is hosting during each visit. This time, I brought up food I'd already cooked and was trying to determine what could go in his little dishwasher based purely on instinct and what I could remember from watching him on previous visits. I don't think I managed to destroy anything.

It's interesting to me how much of a motivated housekeeper I am when I'm doing it as a service. I look at my own kitchen or my own room and just kind of grimace. I procrastinate like a son of a bitch when it comes to cleaning up my own spaces. But when I'm cleaning for someone else, I keep finding new things to do when one task is finished.

Which, by the way, is hard, when your master is a bit of a neat freak.

He warned me the house was trashed because he'd been sick. His idea of trashed is more like mildly cluttered.

Fortunately, as I've mentioned in the past, he's wonderfully observant, so he noticed pretty much if not everything I did, regardless of how unnoticeable I thought it would ultimately be. I spent the long weekend fetching drinks, cooking soup, making two dinners from the mess of food I brought with me.

Amidst that, he might rattle off a list of tasks, and I might get a little frazzled trying to get myself organized. I particularly have this issue when I'm cooking a meal with multiple dishes. I kept thinking "serve first, then do [x]."

I've never really had that thought before, but then, I've never had much of an opportunity for service before. The few I can remember have been sparse with perhaps years between.

One thing I do know from those few experiences is I'm much better at taking care of others than I am at taking care of myself.