Tuesday, June 29, 2010

No Sex Please?

I just read the most fascinatingly problematic article on sexuality from Sunday's New York Times.   The title, "No Sex Please, We're Middle Class," caught my eye at number two on today's most e-mailed article list.  I was expecting a treatise on the ways in which middle-class values contrasted with the values of the working and/or upper classes in repressive ways.

What I got instead was a winding rant about how much better things were in the good old days when men were men and women were women.  Before improved sexual parity in the work place abolished the "intriguingly separate worlds" of the sexes and caused "suffering from over-familiarity" and "a curse of the mundane."

Basically Camille Paglia is arguing that a female version of Viagra will never work because low female libido is caused by the current set of middle class values.  The main problem with her argument is that she provides absolutely zero evidence that the average middle class woman of today has a lower libido and/or less satisfying sex life than women of either another era and/or class.

And while the total lack of support for her central thesis is certainly problematic for arguing her point, it is actually not my biggest problem with the article.  My problem lies in the blatant racism, sexism and classicism that runs throughout the piece.

Middle class white women are characterized as frigid office drones who repress their sexuality and whose very presence in the work place forces men to "neuter themselves," while "multiracial lower-middle-class and working-class" individuals apparently have better libidos because they can be found shopping at the "racy lingerie" store Victoria's Secret in "white middle class" suburban shopping malls.

Without some sort of evidence (of any sort) to back up her assertions, Paglia's portrayal of people of color amounts to nothing more than racial stereotyping that has existed since it was used as part of the justification for keeping African American as slaves--when dark skinned individual were seen as having an animalistic hyper-sexuality that helped to justify treating these people as animals and therefore as property.

I really am quite intrigued by Paglia's central tenet in this article.  We certainly do live in a culture that is quick to medicate, and there are plenty of examples how this can indeed have unintended consequences. And, a lot could be argued about whether it is necessary to pathologize what may very well be natural variation in libido level. We don't expect everyone to be the same hight or run at the same speed, so why should we expect everyone to be equally sexual?

But, there are just as certainly countless people whose lives have been dramatically improved by all of these medication that we are so quick to criticize. Pretty much any bodily function we have can and does malfunction on occasion, so is there any reason to believe that female libido is somehow different?

There are vast quantities of space to debate this issue.  I just don't think a long whine about how the grass is greener for everyone else (based on nothing but racist and sexist stereotypes) is the way to make a point about female sexuality and the necessity of female libido enhancers.

I have even more thoughts about this article. But, I am at a conference this week, and it's time for me to get back to talking about obscure and nerdy things with my follow affectionados of strange and obscure organisms.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

e[lust] #16

 Photo courtesy of Janie

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #17? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Sex Pistil's Guide to Sucking Great Cock - The penis is not something to be feared. It’s not something to hide from, and it’s definitely not something to be put up with the good china and used for special occasions only. The penis is alive and breathing, so to speak, and as such, is not a one-size-fits-all, if-one-guy-likes-it, all-guys-like-it kind of entity.

An Erotic Vignette -  "You will come, and when you do, you will yell my name. Because I own you." "No," she whispered again, terrified. The last part of herself... total control over her pleasure, the responses of her body... surely he couldn't... but his eyes said he could.

Dual Erotica: Tahoe - We finally reach our floor and excitement wars with nervousness in my head. After all, it's been a long, long time for me. I don't have the body I once had; I'm not nearly as experienced as you are. But there is no turning back, not that I want to

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Does Size Matter? - I am most definitely a size queen when it comes to my sex toys…but there’s a reason for that. Using a dildo is very VERY different from how I get fucked by a guy.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

I Want It All - Gender (identity) is different to (biological) sex. Biologically there are males and females, and those who identify as neither (intersex). But it’s sure as hell not that simple, no matter what society says.

See also: Pleasurists #80 and #81 for all your sex toy review needs.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


Lately, I crave penetration. I want to be filled up, stretched out, spread wide. I want to be impaled by cock and fucked hard. Fucked until I scream, or maybe cry.  

I want to feel my lover's fingers force their way deeper and deeper inside of me until his entire fist sinks inside of my cunt.  

I want to be fucked with that fist. I want to feel my pussy pulse and clench around his hand until I pant and moan and come all over his wrist.

I want to be stretched.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Terms of endearment

Slut. Bitch. Whore. Fucktoy. Cunt.

I am slowly warming up to being called "degrading" names. The boyfriend has always wanted to call me his slut, his whore, his dirty bitch, but in the past I always bristled. I found it disrespectful, and, quite frankly, just plain inaccurate. How much of a slut or a whore could I actually be if I only ever had sex with him?

But, then I started seeing other people, and I decided that I was ok with being called a slut. At least it had become an accurate moniker. Sleeping with two people at the same time certainly fulfils the technical definition of sluttishness.

Now the boyfriend calls me "my little slut."  It's become a term of endearment for us, and I've grown quite fond of it.  I'm still working on the other terms.

Partly I am just hung up on precise language.

I am pretty sure, for example, that if anyone actually paid me for sex I would be more than happy to call myself a whore.  I don't see anything inherently wrong with being a prostitute.  But, I have never actually been paid for sex.  So, I feel...odd...letting someone call me a whore.  If I don't fulfil the technical definition of "whore," than all that is left is the slur, right?  The nasty, cruel subtext that exists only to hurt and subjugate. Why would I want to encourage that?

The boyfriend also likes to call me his "fucktoy," and I have absolutely no problem with this one.  While it's not exactly a term you could use on a stranger without pissing them off, it's also not a common slur either.  I've never heard fucktoy used to shame someone for having sex, unlike the other names I've been discussing.

I like the idea of embracing the other terms--the whore, the bitch, the cunt.  I would love to reclaim all the "dirty" and "degrading" terms.  To make them my own, and to laugh to myself when I hear someone try to use them to hurt and repress.

Friday, June 18, 2010


I love anal play.  Anal penetration is by far the closest thing I have to a true fetish, and, even though this blog isn't yet a month old, it is already apparent from the existing entries that I really, really like ass play.   I like giving it, and I love receiving it.

I often read articles imploring the ladies to at least give to try anal sex (addressing the male side here is at least another few posts).  And, the other boyfriend has expounded to me at length on his theories about "anal training" and the importance of associating anal play with other pleasant sensations in order to get girls to enjoy a good ass fucking.  

I understand this on an intellectual level, but for myself, it makes no sense.  I have been infatuated with the concept of anal penetration since well before I ever had any sort of sex with a partner.  In fact, I distinctly remember the moment that I discovered that people actually do that.  That was the moment that I knew I wanted to try it.

Anal sex has always seemed to me to be one of the most deeply personal and trusting acts that two people can commit.  You have to really trust your partner to let them penetrate one of the most sensitive parts of your anatomy.  An ass isn't a pussy or a mouth.  It's far more delicate and more easily damaged.

In retrospect, I think that my instant infatuation with anal sex might have been more of an early indicator of my submissive side than anything else. But, my anal fixation was most certainly aided by the fact that I found vaginal penetration quite painful for several years after I started having PIV sex.

Of course, even long before I had an actual penis in my pussy I was aware that vaginal penetration was supposed to be pleasurable for women.  But, it just wasn't for me.  Even something as slim as a single finger just felt uncomfortable.  On the other hand, a finger in the ass felt amazing.

I used to take very, very loooong baths with the detachable shower head, a tub of Vaseline and a "dildo" that I constructed out of a vaguely phallic shaped deodorant container and some ribbon so it wouldn't get "lost."  I loved the feeling of the blunt head stretching out my asshole while water poured over my clit. The painful stretching sensation pushed me over the edge every time.

In fact, I think I might need to go have a shower right now...

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


It is a pretty standard piece of advice given to young women, and men also to a lesser extent, that you should never feel pressured to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.  And, while I think that I understand and endorse the sentiment behind this statement, I have to disagree with the actual wording of the statement.  Lots of things in life and sex have made me uncomfortable, but boy am I glad that I tried them.

My first spanking comes to mind.  I only tried it because the boyfriend asked to spank me, and I was indulging his fantasies.  I didn't think I would like it, and it made me feel like a bad feminist.  It made me quite uncomfortable really.  But, I loved him, and I trusted him. So, I went for it, and it changed my sex life forever.

The first time a man went down on me, it made me uncomfortable.  How was I supposed to know if my pussy would smell or taste "right."  Bad pussy jokes abound (and some sex toy companies apparently think they are quite funny), but without a point of comparison, how can you tell if your pussy is "good" or "bad?"

My first BDSM party made my wildly uncomfortable.  I was so nervous I would have hit the ceiling if someone had said "boo."   I enjoy these parties greatly now, but I needed the other boyfriend to talk me into going to that first one.

There are many reasons not to let someone talk you into doing something.  If you think an activity is dangerous, or it really turns you off.  If it brings up bad feelings, or it just sounds like the absolute opposite of hot to you, or maybe you just really aren't feeling it right now, then by all means don't do it and don't let anyone pressure you into doing it.  But, I, for one, endorse trying things that make you feel uncomfortable.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


I saw the other boyfriend last night.  We actually had a really nice evening, with excellent sushi and orgasms all around.  But, as far as our usual BDSM play, we were a total fail.  Or, rather, I was a total fail.  I just wasn't feeling it.  I played along for awhile in the hope that I might get in the mood if I just went with things for a bit.  It's been known to work before.  But, not so much last night.

I was ok with the bites on my shoulders and back, with the slaps on my ass and back, but the cane and paddle were just too much for me, and when he went for the inner thighs I lost my cool completely. My inner thighs are insanely sensitive, and I just couldn't handle that pain last night.  I was about half a second from calling it all off, and I must have looked it too because he switched from trying to bite/slap my thighs to fingering my pussy.

Lately, I've been really into penetration.  Fingers, dildos, cocks.  I want them all, especially the cocks.  I enjoy the feeling of fingers stroking my g-spot, but recently I have been all about the good old fashioned finger fucking (when I can't get a cock that is).  I love the feel of a hand slamming into my vulva over and over again as fingers stroke the length of my cunt.

I stroked my clit while he fingered me.  I thought I might squirt from all the g-spot action, but we were on the bed, and I have hang ups about gushing all over the sheets.  Still, I had a nice orgasm.

And, after I recovered from the orgasm he fucked me long and hard while I lay flat on my stomach.  First in my puss than in my ass.  Flat isn't my favorite position for vaginal penetration, but I love it for anal.  I adore the feeling of being pinned underneath a man while he just pounds away at my ass until he comes.  I love feeling like my only responsibility is to lie there and take it.  I love feeling used that way.

I didn't come from the fucking, so I grabbed my Wahl (always plugged in at my bedside) to finish myself off.  He fingered me again until his hand cramped up, and we grabbed my favorite g-spot dildo to finish the job.  I had to call in the heavy reinforcements for that second orgasm (my most powerful vibrator and most intense dildo), but it was definitely worth it.  I had an awesome orgasm that made my full body spasm and twitch for what felt like ages even though it was probably more like 30 seconds.

The evening was far from a wash, but I am always left confused and frustrated on those night that the things I normally enjoy, that I enjoyed last week, just don't work for me.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Natural History

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider’s web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

--E. B. White

This poem reminded me of myself today.  I never want to let go of the silken thread, my love.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Airport run

"Hi, baby.  My plane just landed."

"Great.  I just have to do one last thing, and I will be right there."

"Ok, I love you."

"I love you too."

I check the mirror.  Hair, make-up, clothes.  Check, check, check.  The house is clean, the bed is made and there is wine chilling in the fridge.

Only one thing left to do. I grab some lube, pull down my pants and bend myself over the bed.  I contemplate the fat purple pug for a moment before I lube it up and press it firmly against my ass.  Deep breath, and then I push it in slowly but firmly until I feel my ass clamp down on the narrow neck.

Exhale. I stand up gingerly and pull my pants back over my hips.  Time to get to the airport.

In the car, the seat cushions grind the plug deeper into my ass, and breaking is...interesting.

I pick the boyfriend up from in front of baggage claim and we steal a quick kiss before the guys directing traffic can scold us for waiting at the curb.

As we drive he notices my shifting and wiggling.  I can't help it.  The plug is driving me crazy.  I've never understood the people who claim that plugs get more comfortable with time.  My poor ass, just feels more and more tender with time.

"Are you really wearing the plug, baby."

"Of course.  You asked me to."

"Hmm, that's hot."

He teases me for the rest of the drive.  Laughing at my wriggling and squirming.

When we get home he kisses me deeply in the living room then pulls me quickly into the bedroom.  We are naked in no time.

"I think I'll fuck your ass.  Since you've been wearing that plug for an hour, I don't think I'll need to be gentle."

I whine a bit, but don't object as he bends me over the bed, plugged ass sticking up for his viewing pleasure.  He grabs the base and yanks it out firmly.  I moan as I feel my asshole stretch over the widest part of the plug and snap closed again.

My relief is short lived, though, as he immediately plunges his cock balls deep into my tenderized anus.  Making me scream in surprise and pain. I bite down on a handful of comforter to muffle my screams and moans as he ups the tempo of the ass fucking, pounding me harder and faster, wringing scream after scream from my throat.

Part of my brain is screaming at me to throw myself forward, to try and escape from the brutal ass pounding that feels like it is going to rip me in two.  But, the rest of me can't deny the mounting evidence that the pounding is turning me on.

My cunt is practically dripping onto the bedspread.

I desperately hold onto the bed, and try to ride out the rest of the fucking.  Crying into the comforter as he slams into me again and again, stretching my tender asshole over and over with his cock.

He finally comes with a yell and collapses on top of my back for a moment, cock swelling and pulsing inside of me. I savor the feeling of his weight pinning me to the bed and the little moans that escaped me as his cock twitches inside my brutalized ass.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Front Door

I open the door for him, and he steps inside, slightly damp from the warm rain.  I haven't even shut the door before I am in his arms, and his mouth finds mine.  His kisses are demanding.  His teeth nip at my lips. I kick the door shut behind me.

His teeth latch onto the muscle at the top of  my shoulder, and I squeal a little bit as they close down, hard.  Another kiss and he's pulling my dress over my head.  I lift my arms compliantly.  He orders me out of my panties, and I sigh and then squeak in protest as his mouth and fingers close on my nipples.  First gently, then hard.

He straightens up and wraps my hair around his fingers, pushing me to my knees.


I have no idea how he's freed his cock from his pants without my noticing, but there it is hard, and bobbing in my face.  I open my mouth, and he slides it all the way in, taking hold of my hair with both hands and fucking my face violently.  I choke and gag.  Saliva flows freely down my chin, down his balls.  I focus on breathing, on not drowning in my own spit, on letting him use me.

When he's done with my mouth he pushes my face to the floor.

Crack.  He slaps my bare ass, hard, and I moan, then scream as I realize he is not letting up.  There's no warm up tonight, just pain.

He pauses, but it's only to collect his favorite canes.  I feel a rain of blows all over my back and ass.  He's using his acrylic cane, and it stings horribly even though he is keeping the blows light.  I bite my fist to stifle some of the high pitched little whimpering noises that are escaping from my mouth.

My pussy is swollen and wet by now, hungry for his touch. He pauses the beating to slides two fingers inside of me, and I moan in pleasure and relief as he strokes my g-spot.

Crack.  He's back to slapping my ass.  Hard stinging blows that make me cry out against my will and bring tears to my eyes.  I am wriggling now.  I can't help it, and he is holding me down with his left hand as he smacks me with his right.

He stands up, and I breath a sigh of relief before I hear the swish of the carbon fiber cane as it cuts through the air above my upturned ass. I hear the swish again just before it connects, raising an angry red line on my skin and making me scream in pain.  He strikes me over and over again all over my back and ass.  I'm openly weeping now.  Crying in between cane strokes and screams of pain.

There is no pretence of punishment.  He wants to hurt me, and I want him to.  I can't see his face with my own face resting on my living room floor, but I know what it looks like when he hits me--cool, focused, lost in his own world.

I'm gone down the rabbit hole now.  It doesn't occur to me to stop him.  There is no room in my head for such thoughts.  The only thought in my head is to hold on just a little bit longer.  To get through the next moment and then the next.

And, then, as suddenly as it began, it's over.  He leads me to the bedroom and holds me and strokes me gently while I collect myself.  Before I know it we are laughing, and then fucking, and then laughing while fucking.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Science Fiction

When I was about 12, my paternal grandfather* passed away after a long struggle with Alzheimer's.  The sum total of my inheritance from him amounted to a small, handmade wooden box, a handful of glass paperweights and a stack of science fiction paperbacks.  The box and the glass have sentimental value, but it is the books that have really made an impression on me.

I am sure that if my mother had any idea what I was in those books, she would never have allowed her impressionable middle schooler to read such subversive stuff.  The stack must have seemed innocent enough.  It was a collection of the classic science fiction authors, full of the originators of the field, Issac Asimov, Aurthur C. Clark, Ray Bradbury, etc.  But, the author who's work really captured my imagination was Robert A. Heinlein.

Heinlein, you see, didn't feel constrained to stick with the current model of social and sexual norms when writing about humanity's future.  He wrote about worlds with all sorts of interesting social systems. Mostly, though, I was fascinated by the sexual freedoms that he offered his characters, especially the female characters.  While he didn't exactly seem to think that men and women were equals, he had many, many powerful, happy, sexually adventurous female characters who were celebrated instead of scorned for enjoying sex. 

What a thought!  If all men celebrated female sexuality instead of scorning it (or fearing it or trying to subjugate it), think how much more often everyone would get laid!

Anyway, back to my point here.  Heinlein also felt no need to pair characters off into neat, tidy little monogamous couples.  His books explore open marriages, group marriages, single polyamory, casual sex, swinging, and even topics like spanking, incest and rape. 

I will never know if Heinlein's arguments against monogamy are just so compelling as to be irrefutable to me, or if they merely struck me at a very impressionable moment. 

I know that many people out there would probably say that these writings corrupted my innocent mind, and I suppose they have a point.  In the 15 years since I first read those books I have certainly practised monogamy.  I don't even recall having a problem with it when my partner and I lived in the same city.  But, ever since I read those books, I have just never been able to see monogamy as anything more than a hollow social construct.

*In the process of helping to clean out his house, I discovered what a dirty old man my grandfather really was.  His "library"  (an alcove at the end of the service porch) was full of girly magazines and old fashoined pin-up calanders, and the bedroom had such trinkets as a innocent looking little wooden man figurine that revealed a (proportionally) giant, erect, spring actived  penis when you lifted him from the top.  I wonder what he would think of this blog?

Monday, June 7, 2010

His Face II

His mistress said the first step would be the hardest, and she was right. Once I had both feet firmly planted on his stomach it was easy. 

I am no pixy, but he seemed happy, almost giddy to have my full weight planted on his abdomen.

I cautiously lifted my right foot and moved it up to his chest.  Shifted my weight to the right and moved my left foot to his chest too.  A glance down to gauge his reaction.  Breathing shallowly and blissed out.  I shift down to stand on his thighs.  He takes a deep breath, still lost in his own world.

I shift carefully back to his stomach.  I like this spot the best.  His stomach is soft and squishy.  He's not fat, but the area between the ribcage and the pelvis is just fleshy without any bones under my feet.  It's soft and weird to walk on, but also nice.  The sensation is not entirely unlike walking on a trampoline, but with more organs.

I check in with him, and he guides my feet left foot to rest on his collar bone.  The outer edge of my foot rests just at on the base of his windpipe.  He can still breath like this, but only just.  If I shift a hair to the left...

I slide back to safer territory and check in again. "Please step on my face."

Is he serious?

I dance around on his body some more, contemplating.  He looks so happy, so peaceful, so blissed out.  I want to keep him in the moment, to experience even  more for myself.

"O.K. Show me."

I stand on his chest and he guides my left foot over his forehead and eyes.  My right foot goes over his mouth and chin.  

Holy shit.  I am standing on his face.  His face!

I take a deep breath, count to ten and step gently onto his chest, his stomach, the floor. 

We are done, and neither of us can wipe the grin off of our faces.

I wrote the previous version of this encounter first, but decided it was a bit dull.  I almost trashed it and went with this version, but I hesitated because I do appreciate when blogger explain things a bit.  Cryptic vignettes can be hot and all, but they aren't the reason I, personally, read blogs.  I like the back story.  The whys and wherefores.  But, that may just be me.  I don't believe that my blog has much of a readership at the time of this posting, but if you encounter this post in the future please do weigh in on whether you like one version better than the other.  Cheers, E.

Sunday, June 6, 2010


I seem to have a touch of stomach flu, so I've been lazing around watching some Sex and the City today in between bouts of moaning piteously.

Anyway, I watched the episode where Miranda's neck goes out, and she ends up naked on the bathroom floor. Carrie's boyfriend Aidan comes to rescue her, and he ends up picking her up off the floor to take her to the doctor.  As he lifts her up, she grabs the bathmat with her teeth.  Her teeth!  

I can understand how she would find it awkward to be naked in front of her best friend's boyfriend, but the bathmat? Really?  I'm pretty sure I would rather be naked in the middle of Madison Square Garden than put my bathmat in my mouth.  Obviously, I need to start doing laundry more often or something.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Morning Depravity

I woke up to this in my inbox this morning:

"Good morning, my slut.

I was reading some of the blogs you linked to on your own, and thought that this might be hot.  Read through it, and if you follow through, it will be a very good wakeup call for me.  It will please me very much if you do.

You're already naked for me.  Convenient that you sleep that way, your body unprotected and open for me.  Your mouth, your pussy, and your ass all accessible and within reach.  Your soft breasts ready for whatever I have in store. Get the purple plug and some boy butter.  Oh, and get your cell phone handy.  You'll need them soon.
I want you to present yourself for me.  Even though I'm not there, I want you to kneel in the middle of the bed, and then put your head down.  Present your ass: reach back and spread the cheeks apart with your hands.  Arch your back so that your ass is high up, your forehead digging into the mattress.  Think of me standing beside the bed, admiring the view.  Walking around you, but not touching you.  Not yet.

Think of me admiring your new body decorations.  The cross-hatch marks on your ass, the bruises on your calves.

Stay like that for five minutes, slut.  Just thinking of me looking down upon your body, preparing to use you as I please.  After five minutes, I want you to force the plug inside.  Don't be gentle.  I would not be gentle this early in the morning.  Especially if it was my cock, and not a plug, that I was inserting into your quivering ass.  I would thrust inside you in one motion.  As your ass started to give in to the pressure of the head of my cock, my hips would thrust forward and make you take the rest.  Do that with the plug--just like I would my cock.

Keep your ass up high.  The perfect height for me to fuck from behind.  Your forehead pushed down, your mouth screaming into the mattress.  Fantasize about how I would fuck you.  How I would pull out of your ass after I was done and use my belt on your tender flesh.

Masturbate for me, slut.  Touch yourself.  Work your fingers inside your cunt, first, pushing against the plug in your ass.  Now touch your clit.

Don't fucking move any part of your body but your hand down to your pussy.  Keep kneeling.  Your ass and cunt presented to the world.  Presented for rough sex.  For use as my personal sex toy.  You are my slut.

You may not cum without my permission. Call me when you're so close that your cunt is dripping down your thighs, and be sure to ask sweetly."

It's been a very good morning so far.

Friday, June 4, 2010


I am cataloguing my bruises tonight.  Yesterday I had a play date with the other boyfriend.  Very recently we upped the intensity of our play, and the results have been...impressive.

Tonight  I have an assortment of bite shaped bruises on my neck and shoulders.  A tic-tac-toe board of cane marks on my ass, plus a few random strikes on my thighs.  Finger print marks on my inner right thigh, an impressively purple bite mark on the left, and a matched set of viciously swollen bite bruise on my inner calves.

I have a whip wheal from a dragon's tongue on my right shoulder, and an assortment of scratches down my back and ass.  There is also a new bruise on my left breast right next to an old one from the last time I saw the boyfriend.

All of which made me very, very happy today.

I've always kind of liked having bruises, even the non-kinky kind. It seems a little strange to admit it, but it is true.  I like bruises.  I don't intentionally hurt myself.  You know, other than dating tops who like canes and paddles.  But, I am clumsy and bruise easily, so I always seem to have a few of the non-kink sort of bruise somewhere on my body.  

At the moment there is a small, but deep bruise on my right shin from god knows what, and two long, narrow ones on my forearms from banging them against a shelf when a step-stool slid out from underneath me.

The bruises and marks are visible proof that I have been out there actually doing shit.  Putting up shelves and pleasing lovers and having awesome orgasms.  I like them, even if I reserve the right to whine about them.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Not Now

*Please note that the following is a bit of fictional smut that I jotted down the other day.  It is meant to depict a consensual BDSM scene rather than an act of domestic assault.  My partners and I always play with safewords, so that "no" does not have to mean "no."  If reading about "forced" sex upsets you for any reason, you might want to skip this entry. Thanks*

"I want your ass.  Right now."

I look up from the computer screen.  He's looking expectant.  But, I am busy. I am working.

"Not now, baby.  I need to finish this."

"No. Now."  

He grabs me by my hair and drags me to my feet.  Tied up in sensible bun, my long hair makes a tidy handle for dragging.   

"Owe.  That fucking hurts!  What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

"Taking your ass."

"But, I don't want you toooo.  Leave me alone!"  I am whining now.

"Too fucking bad."  He pushes me to my knees and then bends me over the bed.  "Give me your wrists."  

"Noooo.  I don't want to." 

"Too bad."  His fingers tighten on my hair and he yanks my head back. Hard. "Give me your wrists, slut." I contemplate refusing, but there is an edge in his voice that makes me believe that I don't want to know what will happen if I do.

I put my wrists behind my back and feel him wrap the leather cuffs around them, then snap them together.  He slides a blindfold over my eyes and pulls up my skirt. My panties come down next, and I hear him pop open a bottle of lube.  I feel his cock press against my ass.  

He shoves into me in one motion, and I bury my face in the bed to muffle my scream.  He reverses direction, and I scream again.   Screaming helps, but there is no way to avoid the searing agony in my ass.  There is nothing to do but ride out the pain.

In a few minutes the pain fades from searing to burning.  Normally, I would reach for my clit now but I'm tied up and squirming underneath him.  Unable to do anything to ease my suffering.


"Please, what?"

Please let me touch myself..."


"But, baby, it hurts."


He fucks me faster, harder.  I moan into the bed.  Trying not to scream.  Failing. 

He groans as he comes inside of me.  I like feeling the way his cock twitches inside my ass even though it makes me whimper into the bed.


Smack.  His hand connects with my ass.

"Shut up before I gag you."

I shut up.

Then I feel it.  A hard, cold object working its way into my ass.  It has to be the glass butt plug.  It's not that big, but it is so hard and unyielding.  It always hurts  me.  I whimper.

"No, please..."  

"Please what?"

"Please don't..."

"Don't what?"

"Please take it out. Please.  Please. Please."


."No.  You are going to wear this plug until I come back to fuck you again."

He shuts the door behind him, and I am left whimpering on the bed, stretched painfully while I wait for him to come back and use my ass again.