Jul 212016

Mr. Texas and I were relaxing by the pool and I started going into why I was sore – I had done two rope scenes the previous night and both men had tied me in a way that exhausted my injured hip.

That was all I said.

He gave me that look, and I knew where it was going. “I know you love this, and I wouldn’t change it or you for the world, but I don’t like to hear about other men touching you. I’m still getting accustomed to it.”

“I know.”

“Don’t get me wrong, if you feel like you need to tell me or talk to me about it, I can hear it, I just don’t like to. I’m glad you told me that you had two great scenes with men last night, but that’s about as far as I want to know – that you had fun and that you played the way you wanted to.”

“And I thank you for that, it’s the only way we can be together, but still…it’s something that I love and experience and don’t share with you.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, “still, I completely understand and respect your position. You know what you’re comfortable with, and I’ve no wish to push that.”

It makes me a bit sad that I can’t share everything with him, but at least he says he is comfortable (in a manner of speaking, I don’t think he truly is) with me exploring and dating others (just not sexual intercourse, which I am not engaging in).

click to read more

**A current reflection since this was written months ago for #F4TF: I don’t think one gender is more promiscuous naturally than another, though society and history has certainly tried to teach otherwise (men are seen as more promiscuous). I do, however, feel that I am more promiscuous than my partners. It was a problem in my marriage, it can seen in this post with Mr. Texas, and I hesitated to broach the subject of polyamory with Tech Talk because my own history has taught me that I will be judged or shut down in my desire to be with more than one person (though to what degree I’ve learned I can compromise on).

So in my own relationships I am more promiscuous it seems, though I have no idea why this is. Perhaps I pursue other relationships more? Perhaps I don’t have a dedicated local play partner so I play with a few? Perhaps I am unconsciously attracted to men who want to be monogamous (though not all the men are, so maybe not every man)?  Some things I would like to settle more on, others I wouldn’t, and it would be situational and based on people involved.

Jul 202016

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Photo courtesy of A to sub-Bee

Welcome to Elust #84

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

About Those “Apple Thighs”
Why the Hell Haven’t I Rebelled Yet?


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

IDENTITY – hiding the evidence
friday flash–service


~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Good In Bed

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Erotic Fiction

Pubic Disturbance
Colds and Lust
Sex Machine
A Dirty Bathroom Floor
I’m Sorry I’m So Silent
S’il Vous Plaît
Edge of Morning
Dancin’ (Most) of the Night Away
Airport Arrivals

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

42 Kinds of Casual Sex
Living in Fear – An Essay on Male Entitlement

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How To Give A Bare Handed Spanking
Reconciling dominance and love
She’s a Very Kinky Gor

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Run the good race

Erotic Non-Fiction

We Made A Resolution To Make Love Everyday
The 20 Minute Orgasm
More on cunt, corridors & Schroedinger’s cock
Stoned Birthday Sex
Room with a View
I’m Not Done With Your Throat Yet
It’s a strange path to trust.

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Poly and Pets

Writing about Writing

Why Write Erotic Fiction?
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Jul 192016

I had my first orgasm at noon; I had my last orgasm at midnight. There was only perhaps a couple of hours broken up in between all of that. For those that know how easily and how hard I orgasm, that’s quite a day of a lot of orgasms.

Far, far too many orgasms. It was ridiculously easy to get me to orgasm as the night went on.

In the day, I met a man (Tech Talk) that I went out on a few dates with. It was our first time kissing, so why not move it to our first time fucking as well? He is a very sweet man who is interested and incredibly open minded about kink. We had discussed boundaries and limits dates prior to this and the path was laid out on which directions I could go.

IMG_2357So, I gave him some small tastes of kink. I began by giving him different sensations. My fingers swept softly, my nails raked angry red trails down his body. My mouth kissed gently, sucked, nibbled a lot, and then once I realized he had a high pain threshold – bit roughly everywhere; he had already shared that he liked to be bit. Silk fabric caressed up and down parts of his body before blindfolding him. I took a Wartenberg Wheel to him, tiny little pinpricks of marks across his skin which he handled so well that I pressed deeply into his skin and blazed intermittent dotted pieces like those in the center of a road showing the trail I traveled for days across his skin.

He kept complimenting me, saying how rare and unusual I was, how exciting, how he scored himself a hot woman, how lucky he was. He complimented my body, my touch, my mouth. He claimed that I was absolutely amazing at giving head.

And then it was his turn to do things to me. He went down on me for so long that I orgasmed, then he fingered me to a few more orgasms. He stretched on a condom and entered me, missionary for just a moment and then around to hands and knees behind me, then laying down completely on my back. He complimented how I felt while pushing for orgasm after orgasm (which was ridiculously easy after going down on me for so long).

We became a sweaty mess  who both claimed that we needed a nap after we were finally done. But I had places to go, so I cleaned up and left him…

…Onto the dungeon.

Where after a negotiation, I had two people co top me, with no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks, no blood or needle play, but name calling and lighter impact were fine…unless I orgasm. That last part was from an off hand comment that I can take more from an orgasm. (Honestly, I didn’t think I would orgasm while there because of the no penetration rule – I didn’t take into account how my body was already sensitive from the orgasms before I arrived at the dungeon.)

As the man came in with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a hitachi. I said maybe, and that I would think on it. So when the man slapped at my vulva and got the rhythm that I could orgasm even without penetration, it was because I was already primed for pleasure from earlier in the day. He was downright gleeful when he denied me an orgasm that way and I so badly wanted it that I was ready to cry for one. The day had made my body so ridiculously ready to climax.

I ended up agreeing to a hitachi. He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the loud buzzing was no match for my moans as the toy so quickly overwhelmed my body and granted me the orgasm that I wanted. He discovered that I could multiple, with one orgasm crashing in on another. The vibrations of a wand are the closest I ever get to coloring, and yet I either arch to press myself further against or squirm to get away from it – he was having none of shifting away and the toy throbbed all the more harder against my lips. I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in, which provided a short but painful break to breathe but not lessening my volume as I groaned when contact was made. There could have been a room full of people, and so caught up in receiving either pleasure or pain, I could’ve cared less.

It was during this point that he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. I did try but ended up looking at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.

Afterwards, we all stayed where we were for a bit while I drifted back to reality and got dressed. Then we went into the kitchen area and visited with other people. He looked across the table from me after some time passed and said that he wanted to play again.

So off we went, with the Hitachi and his hands and his words, where I orgasmed until the dungeon closed. Fortunately, he is the one who closes up so I didn’t feel pressured to run out the door – he even walked me to my vehicle.

Twelve hours of orgasms, where one moment set the pace and the path for so many more to be enjoyed over and over again in different ways. I never would have believed my body was so capable of sustaining that many in one day.

*This is the third of seven posts from this one day:Wicked Wednesday

To read the negotiation and beginning play, click here.

To read about more details during orgasming with these awesome two, click here.

Jul 182016

*Continued from here

“I don’t care if she’s ready, I only care if you are,” he told the woman who was co topping me. He had discussed his plan to hit my thighs with a flexible bamboo stick and she would slap at my lips to a rhythm. I felt the ready question he asked previously was directed at me and I offered no protest, so when she agreed she was, they began.

It was a bit of humor in the scene, but I found myself intensely aware of the rhythms across one thigh, the slap in between my legs, and then the accompanying stings across the other thigh. He beat once, she slapped once, he echoed in with once again. He beat twice, she slapped twice, twice on the other thigh. This pattern was maddeningly to me, it was also very centering at I was not aware of my noises, any potential audience, my breathing, the impact – no, only the rhythm. It was becoming very aware of my present in such an odd way.

Eventually, he questioned the use of a Hitachi and I consented; I so badly wanted an orgasm after being denied one already.

When he placed the wand against my thin lace fabric, I squirmed- rather it was into or away from the sensation I can’t say.

The woman held my wrists and her soft lips grazed my nipple, her mouth gently sucked. Again, I felt grateful to be playing with both of these individuals and thought it was so fucking sexy.

I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in – giving me a break to breathe but not cutting down any of my moans.

At one point he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. She stood behind my head and gripped my now sweaty hands in both of hers, I arched back a bit to look up into her face as she looked down, her hair cascading down either side. A further awareness that I was playing with a female – a rarity, and also that I would try to look at her while I was orgasming.

He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the buzzing so quickly overwhelmed my body. I shut my eyes, snapped them open, looked into her lovely eyes, shut, open, tried to keep them open, shut them, shuddered against the wand as I groaned through the build up and looked at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.

She praised me for trying so hard, stroked my sweaty hair as he stopped the wand and put it to the side. She offered to go get me water and he moved alongside where I laid, caressed my reddened thighs softly. He expressed that I wasn’t the wimp that I think I am.

They talked about everyday things as I sat comfortably listening and drinking my water, unhurried to get dressed or move. They welcomed anything that I had to say and listened respectful – I didn’t feel like an outsider even though I didn’t know them and they were already good friends.

Overall, it was an incredible experience and one that I would eagerly do again.

**There are five more concepts to this scene overall, as this was just a focus on the orgasm portion of it, although the next one is 12 hours of orgasms, maybe I should have had that be Masturbation Monday material.
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Jul 152016

I had two people co-top me last night (*not actually last night). At first it began with a negotiation with a male, but after learning that I’m a wimp (by my own confession) and that I like sensations more than impact, he asked if I played with females. I don’t normally, but I have, so he asked another female if she wanted to join in since she was more sensation play. She agreed. I was nervous when I got the offer, but after the stressful morning, I thought why not and agreed.

She and I discussed some negotiation things – no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks other than what a bathing suit would cover, no blood or needle play; she asked about name calling (I admitted I had not experienced this and would let her know if I had an issue in the moment), and I warned that I can only handle lighter impact…unless I orgasm. That last part came into play because she asked when the last time I played was, and I was bemoaning the fact that I lost my crop.

“A crop? And you do light impact?”

“Well, I can take more from an orgasm.”

As the man came into the room with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a Hitachi. I said maybe and that I would think on it.

I got undressed down to underwear.

She sat on a piece of furniture near me and watched as he pushed my back against a leather padded structure and asked about face slapping and hair pulling. “No to face, yes to hair,” I stated. He announced he would start out touching me, so he did, lightly and unhurriedly tracing his way up and down my body, looking for reactions. He commented to the female that my breasts felt amazing and that she needed to feel them. She stated she would in a minute, that she was watching.

He spun me around and told me to spread my legs, gripped my hair tightly in his fingers. He began to talk dirty to me, his mouth close to my ear, his words touched me before his hands.

He started with fingertips washing against my back side, and then light slapping of my ass. “She has a beautiful ass, you should smack it,” he suggested to the female and she did. I felt her nails softly scratch my skin across the skin she smacked.

It was a long scene, so I’ll skip around a bit…

A female’s soft mouth on my nipple, her tongue teasing the hardened tip, and seeing the way her hair swayed to the side, was unusual to me but it was nice. Her gracious lips would occasionally graze at my sensitive breasts throughout the scene, but that first time I viewed her bending over while I stood against the furniture stands out so vividly.

His vicious hands in my hair on either side were meant to hurt, and they did, keeping me centered and aware that he was in charge.  The Wartenberg Wheel’s tines kept my brain focused on my skin by offering the prickly sensations along it, even across my nipples.

She held my arms back and I melted against her softness in such a sharp contrast to the stinging impact of him slapping my inner thighs in front of me. I thought it was incredibly hot to be in between the two of them, thought of how lucky to experience such.

She would check in on me every so often – a calm reassurance.

I was ordered up on a table and blushed as it was discussed how eager I appeared. Fortunately for me, while I could feel the color in my cheeks, I don’t believe that they could see it.

His electrical wand came out and a large light bulb caressed and zapped its way down my body. The woman stepped away for a few moments – disliking electrical play.

Next my body was slapped, more lightly towards the breasts and rougher on the thighs. I am such a wimp at stinging impact but I hoped that I wasn’t disappointing them – I didn’t color or try to stop it, my body was sufficiently warmed up and I became conscious of just breathing and moaned through the hands reddening my skin.

And then my vulva was slapped – tentatively at first, a test of impact, and I groaned in a way that must’ve been encouraging. He began a rhythm and my noises clued in my obvious enjoyment…and perhaps just as obvious building of an orgasm as he stopped right before I could. I whined and he seemed very pleased with the denial, laughed and made a comment that wasn’t at all sympathetic.

He grabbed a flexible bamboo rod and told her of his plan to hit my thighs to a rhythm and that in between each hit, she would slap at my lips.

After he discussed the plan for all of a few seconds, he asked: “are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” she said after a moment, but I know the words were meant for me, to see if I would protest, if I was okay. I didn’t respond during that pause nor did I protest. I was anxious but far more curious.

“Good, I don’t care if she’s ready, I only care if you are. Little sluts are always ready.” For some reason we all laughed and continued laughing at the beat they played upon my body; the humor in the scene was refreshing. It wasn’t the first time I was called a slut in this scene, but it was the first scene that I had ever had name calling done and I still felt a bit odd about it – neither positive nor negative, rather indifferent.

*This scene has six more installments, as there’s a lot of firsts to discuss and dissect. The next one is here. And then to discover why I could achieve an orgasm without penetration, click here to read about earlier in the day.

**To hear the two people who co topped discuss (briefly) the negotiation (where I heard it was also their first time co-topping), click here and go from 37:20-38 minutes, and 40:20-40:30 (the whole part of safe words is a great thing to just listen to).

***To hear a later discussion of how the female views me as hetero-flexible (I would say she’s fairly accurate), click here and to go 34 minutes.

Jul 122016

Wicked WednesdayShe was tied up by her lover to one of the posts on the narrow sidewalk, her wrists bound crisscrossed reaching for the bushy foliage above her head hanging from the pole. A blindfold was placed against her eyelids, which was actually a stolen towel used to clean tables from the fancy restaurant whose back door led to this alleyway; she felt as if she wasn’t even deserving of a proper blindfold suddenly and it stirred in her a feeling of anxiousness. Faintly the smell of cleaner wafted in her nostrils and she felt the dampness in places against her skin as he tied it tightly around her head. On top of the blindfolded fabric, bands of rope went over and then were tied behind the pole, her skull pressed into the metal and held firmly in place. She would not be able to turn her head or lean away; she would also not be able to talk apparently as he gripped the front of her throat and briefly caressed her pulse on either side with a thumb and fingers before creating another band of rope between her teeth, sharply it bit the sides of her lips as he tied it without mercy.

Rope cemented her spine to the cold and unforgiving pole, circled the curve in her waistline, being tied tightly that the reverberations added the sensations of butterflies panicking in her stomach and trying to escape; there would be no escape – that’s what the rope digging into her soft flesh utterly announced so concisely.

A spreader bar was attached to her ankles, the cuffs a soft leather that was tightened still to somehow a menacing feeling, with ropes being heard strung through the hooks of the cuffs and tied around her to the pole, anchoring her further. He took some loose ends then whipped her thighs and hips as he tied, the sting making her skin ring out in awakening sensations.

For the moment had just begun. She waited like that for what seemed a long time, becoming fidgety as she shifted her already aching feet inside of her incredibly uncomfortable high heels that he picked out for her to wear. She felt the cool air on her exposed cleavage that the tight dress, that he also chose, barely concealed. She strained to hear something, some clue of someone there, but only silence greeted her.

Where was her lover now?

And then a door somewhere, and another door somewhere else, as if on cue or some timer, creaked open. Shuffling of feet, high heels, the low hum of voices inside of rooms of distant places clamored at her brain, and she felt again a moment of panic.

Perhaps she imagined that she could feel heat of bodies as they moved towards her, but she undeniably felt the hands as they caressed her arms beside her bound head, or over her barely protected nipples, or as they brushed over the thin fabric hiding her thighs. She felt the steel of a knife slide under the straps of the dress at the collarbone and heard the rendering before feeling the fabric fall from her shoulders. She whimpered behind the rough fibers at her helpless mouth. As so many hands continued to caress her throughout her whole tense body, she felt the knife slide at the top of her cleavage and heard just as much felt the fabric part between her rounded breasts. Hands slid where the fabric gave way, pinched nipples painfully and she whined a little, before they released to grip the tops of the fabric. Again, her body felt while her ears heard the tearing of the flimsy dress down her body, her breasts completely bared, she sucked in her stomach as it was exposed – the waist rope little deterrent but only offering a brief pause as hands repositioned from over to under the binding, her hips felt the release of the tension of fabric that clenched there in protest since spreading her legs for the spreader bar, and then finally her tensed thighs. Despite the ragged bits of fabric clinging to the back of her body from the waist rope, she felt, and truly was, utterly naked and vulnerable now.

The hands about her became more aggressive, with slaps, spanks, pinches, gripped at her breasts, felt her excited wetness despite her anxiousness…and she was so excited, had asked for this from her lover, who had been carefully planning this moment just for her fantasy to come to life as her body now came to life amidst the strangers and friends’ bodies.

A dark alley, photographed by Molly Moore.And she would look back on the pictures of the seemingly exposed alleyway and the one he swiftly snapped of her tied in it as he walked away to give the sign for the people to enter, and feel a shiver of the pleasurable memory come back.

For even the narrow alleyway wasn’t as exposed as the pictures showed – it was blocked off by walls around the curve, being part of the outside area to a club, in historic Wilmington, where people could smoke – or elaborately play as it happened in this case.

But the appearance and how she felt, despite knowing all these things, didn’t change how exposed/vulnerable, how fearful/anxious/nervous/excited she was in the moment that she was tied.

Jul 112016


photo credit: Light trails via photopin (license)

photo credit: Light trails via photopin (license)

I love the reverberations of the rope fibers as they pull.

The Wanderer’s light eyes were equally compelling as they looked down at me while he pulled rope through a loop he created in the center of my chest. As he created rope tension, it vibrated and drew me towards him – not physically, but I exhaled out as the rope moved out and away, and I wanted to step closer to his warmth and eyes.

Occasionally, his arms reached around the back of me, and I stood on tiptoe to breathe in his scent, my hands lightly caressed his shoulders and arms as my mouth tentatively kissed the side of his neck. I am a bit cautious in making any moves towards The Wanderer. Perhaps it was because Mimir and I had the power play dynamic that I wouldn’t, or perhaps it’s because I’m unsure what this particular man wants me to do. I’m fairly certain he finds me attractive, but that doesn’t translate to he wants me to touch him or kiss him. Still, when he didn’t stop me, my kisses became more open mouth, my hands clenched against him at times.

By the time he moved around my back, his own mouth was on my neck, sent tiny shivers of pleasures to radiate down.

The rope still circled and bound, and my hands now caressed and explored the play of muscles in his arms through his shirt as they manipulated the rope. “May I?” he asked as he kneeled in front of me, the rope pulled through my legs.

“Oh yes,” I don’t know whether I said those words out loud or some other murmur of consent, but at that moment it seemed an amazing place for rope to be since he was not. His fingers lingered as he adjusted the tension, the knot he would carefully place at the most tempting place. I looked down at his hair swept onto his forehead, at his lips that looked so kissable even though he tightened them from time to time in concentration.

Once he strung rope between my legs and tied the tension into my chest, every wrap around of the rope, ever reverberation of the fibers, added to the further throbbing need between my legs.

He would smile a certain smile when he would subtly increase the tension between my legs, that smile grew even further as I gasped my understanding of what he was intentionally doing. Those gorgeous eyes would dance in merriment as he looked directly at me.

He adjusted the strands to pinch between each nipple, wrapped the rope around my wrists and told me to hold on and not let go with the loose ends in the fleshy part of the hand between where the thumb and forefinger connect. It didn’t seem like an easy task to me, for as soon as he touched me I wanted to clench my hands and I would let go of the rope if I did so. I also discovered that if I moved my hands up, the rope became tighter between my legs.

Unfortunately he discovered that too, as when he kissed and caressed me, he would raise my hands and give a little sound of satisfaction with my gasp of pleasure/pain. The rope bit on my nipples and he would run his hands over the rope and tighten the pressure from time to time or just create a rippling sensation to flow through the ropes.

He bent me over the bed to spank me, the angle creating a sharp pinch between my lips that still made me melt around it. When my cheeks were sufficiently pink and warm, he pulled me up by the back of the chest harness and while the rope lessened between my legs, it pinched all the more firmly around my nipples.

As lovely as the tying is with The Wanderer, I far prefer his untying. It’s less focused on the rope (though he does an amazing job tying me and not just paying attention to the rope), slower, more sensual. My body is more warmed up, both to his touch and the binding rope. I have anticipated so many of his caresses, kisses, and even the surprising bit of pain from a pinched nipple or slapped ass. I want more and as the rope cascades and glides to expose my skin for him to touch, I begin to take shallower breaths in anticipating of it. Eliciting little moans of welcome when he finally decides to touch me in his task of uncovering.Masturbation Monday badge - small

Jul 092016

3So anal fisting was on his list of things to try. I was afraid he would crush my hand but slowly, gently we tried it.

I have to say, it was awesome. For one, I was in awe that my entire hand could fit inside of him; it was pretty cool to see it completely disappear. For another, any time I get to see him stroke himself to climax is always fucking hot. And finally, the fact that we trusted each other to try something like this is special and rare.

Sinful Sunday


Jul 082016

Questions found from Insatiable Desire:

Day 10: What are your hard limits?

What used to be hard limits has certainly shifted and changed over the years. These are my limits, so they are solely my issues; I am not judgmental of people who enjoy these activities.

Bodily functions of urine or scat play, including catherization, douching and enemas. I am not even comfortable keeping the bathroom door open if I need to use the toilet.

Anal sex – anything anal is fairly new to me, and I’m still rarely in the mood for stimulation from something small anally, such as a finger or anal trainer plug.

Fisting (still won’t allow it on me), diapers, age play, religious scenes, duct tape directly on skin, needles.

Sex on grass or sand – I’m allergic to grass so that won’t be pleasant, and I really don’t want sand deep in my sensitive zones.

Intentional: bleeding, bruising in visible places, scarring, stretching. I understand that sometimes this may happen, and I take the risk with some activities, however I am not intentionally seeking these things.

*not including illegal, non consensual, harmful activities that I am uninterested in

**Written September 5, 2015. Since then some things have changed (I included a link to each of the write ups of them)