Oct 232014
 
20141024

Image from The Daily Babe

“What a…you have my granny somewhere?” Red demanded after walking into the disarrayed house. Her granny was no easy feat.

“Yes,” Wolf hissed menacingly. “You look far tastier. Take off your clothes and lay down on the bed, and we’ll see if you are sweet treat enough to release her.”

Little Red kept eye contact with him as she unzipped her jacket, displayed she was wearing nothing underneath. She understood why he was called Wolf –  dark shaggy hair, unshaven,  seemingly unkempt, large in height and muscles. She was the opposite of him, petite, thin, seemingly helpless looking.

She lowered her eyes demurely and walked slowly towards him, the hood still on her head, her sweatpants still on her legs. Her baby blue eyes didn’t break his excited hazel ones as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a very masculine, burly, hairy, muscle bound chest. He quickly kicked off his shoes and yanked his pants down without stumbling. Standing tall when she approached him, she barely reached his nipples.

“Your pants,” he growled.

She reached into her waist band at the back and whipped out her knife, sweeping his leg, catching him unawares. His head hit a nearby chair as he tumbled onto his back. She straddled his chest, her knees digging painfully into a pressure point on his arms, and put the knife up to his throat. “My pants are coming off, Wolf, but only because you will be my puppet, not the other way.” She slid the cold blade against his throat, dipped the tip slightly and added a superficial cut behind his frantic pulse. “You may be bigger,” she leaned down and ran her tongue across his lips, his nostrils flared, “but you can’t win this.”  She moved to bend over the side of him, keeping the pressure on his neck.  “Pull down my pants,” she ordered, and as he moved his arm behind a knee, she kicked him forcefully in his ear, “no tricks,” she added. He glared at her, and she noticed his penis jerked up. He may not like the situation, but she was still delicious looking. When he worked the pants below her knees, she kneeled down to keep better balance with the knife at his throat, and his arm was barely long enough to work the pants around her sneakers.

“Good,” she cooed, “good pet. Now taste how sweet I am, how I bring goodies to those I decide to,” she sat on his face, sliding the blade in between her thighs and stroking his adam’s apple with the scratchy tip. He clamped his lips together. “Stick it out and lick,” she commanded, adding a deeper cut along the chest by a nipple. She felt his mouth open, the wet tongue swirl along her opening. “Good boy. You see, the difference of choice is what matters most to me.”

As his tongue licked and probed pleasurably, she watched his cock harden even further. He was such a superb specimen, it was a shame to kill him afterwards, but he was still a dangerous Wolf, and they didn’t make good pets.

***************************************************************************

Key Words: “what a … you have” 

Forbidden Words: riding, innocence

Word Limit: 382 words

Bonus Words: make her the corrupter (+75 words)

Extra Credit: tell about a time you corrupted someone innocent.

**************************************************************************

Over word count, even with bonus words, but not by much, which is impressive. I have a thing for fairy/folk tales, however, and Little Red Riding Hood happens to be my favorite. I’ve done extensive research on the different historical versions throughout the world, and am so fascinated by the story. I took Roald Dahl’s more modern perspective where she is not a nice girl, going beyond even defensive, and also blending/including a very old tale of rape – though the wolf is the one being raped. Charles Perrault’s version warns women to be wary of men, but men in modern times need to be wary of assuming that women are defenseless, harmless, or sexless. And that is the beauty of these tales – to reflect the current culture they are told in.

I’ve had a few virgins in my youth, but I don’t believe that it was a corruption – they approached/pursued me. What would I want with an inexperienced virgin?

My husband is the closest I can think of “corrupting”, for he was sexually very innocent, unbelievably so in this modern age. Now, he’s kinky and so dammed skilled. Our second date I straddled him while he was in the driver’s side of the car, grabbing his large knife in the center console as I moved, and put it up to his neck. He looked at me calmly and asked, “whatcha doing babe?”. That might be when I fell in love (okay, lust) with him.

And this past weekend, we visited some incredibly vanilla friends and my husband suspended the female, and now she wants to do all sorts of kinky rope things. Does that count as corrupting, or opening up a whole new world (now I have Aladdin stuck in my head)?

 

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 10:10 am
Oct 222014
 

“The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you, about that tight ass, and how much I love cumming inside of you as you scream my name.”

This bold statement was whispered in my ear as a man I’ve never met sat next to me at the bar. The smell of whiskey was strong on his breath, and as I knew that I’d never met him before, I very much doubted that this message was intended for me. It didn’t stop me from reacting to it. Despite my realizing his folly, I still didn’t turn around, a curious minx inside of me wanted to see what else he might say. I felt his hand reach out and brush my hair from my nape, his lips brushed my ear enticingly as he went on.

“I know I said I didn’t miss you, but that’s a lie. I dream of you. You haunt my every waking thought. I’ll be at work and flashes of that lush naked body of yours take over my thoughts. We were so good together Em, I know you think of it too. I didn’t mean to shut you out, I was scared.”

At this point I thought it might be cruel of me to let this continue, so I resigned myself to turn around and end my game. The man though, apparently besotted by desire and the whiskey that led to my mistaken identity in the first place, seized my lips before I could open them in a searing kiss. My head swam. I couldn’t break this kiss if I wanted to. He suddenly gripped my cheeks in his strong hands and whispered “I want you” before brushing his lips against mine again.

Suddenly though, the reality of the situation with a man I didn’t know caused me to panic. I chokingly whispered “I have to go”, breaking free of his grasp and grabbing my handbag as I slide off the stool to wrestle my way through the crowd at the bar. My lips tinged where they had met his and I touched them, not believing what had just happened. It was a twisted Cinderella story, with me being the one to turn into a pumpkin if I didn’t get out of there.

It wasn’t until I was home and my phone rang with an unfamiliar number that I realized my escape was not so perfectly executed, and this really was my own Cinderella story. Instead of leaving behind a glass slipper, it was my business card, carelessly tossed on the bar next to my drink earlier, intended to be given to the bartender. In my haste and panic it had been left there, and now my ruse was up.

I braced myself, not knowing what this man would say about my perfidy, and hit “accept” on my phone…

This post was written for wicked Wednesday, see what other drunken truths are revealed this week by hitting the link below.

Wicked Wednesday

Oct 192014
 

When my husband and I first became interested in each other, I had asked him what he found turned him on. He immediately responded with fishnet stockings, and I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

I was saddened by the comment. I had already tried stocking and such, to no avail. The biggest issue: I am slightly shorter than 5 ft (1.524 m) tall, most of that is torso, leaving my legs quite short. I can’t wrap my legs around my husbands waist fully. My friends tease that my pants look more like capri shorts.

stockings 005

I am not patient, but I lay here waiting for him to enter the room, to surprise him in some of his favorite stockings.

So for this particular kink, I fall woefully short (pun intended, of course). Thigh highs go up to crotch and then some, knee highs look like thigh highs – but I have thick thighs so they don’t fit well. Thick legs also interfere with how sexy I thought I would look in fishnets, as I imagined in my mind the netting digging in and my thickness poking out (I have no idea why I believed it this strongly).

Even my feet can be negative when looking for stockings. Most stockings are patterned around the foot, and my feet are the size of a child’s – I don’t shop in adult shoe sections much.

Years and years down the line, I found a pair of fishnet stocking that I thought I could navigate and manipulate to fit on me. And they did! I was finally able to surprise him in something that years ago he said he appreciated seeing on a woman. He let me know how much he found them sexy on me as well. Whenever I put them on, he also can’t help taking a photo or two.

Since then, I’ve purchased a another pair or two of stockings for a garter belt (my newest lingerie adventure). I still have the challenges of short legs, but with practice, it’s getting easier to manipulate the look of them. And now I’m trying to find thigh high and knee high socks too, something I thought I would never be able to wear. His favorite stockings – my first pair – have really opened up this kink.

Oct 172014
 

Humming softly to herself over the sound of the approaching thunderstorm, she spread out her blanket, laid on her side, and propped her head up on her hand.

Jean Jacques Andre

Jean Jacques Andre

She remembered he said to bring protection, so she reached back and felt for the rounded cover, placed it on her head. A rain hat should be more than adequate protection. As she waited, she found herself daydreaming about their many adventures.

The thunder rolled and she perceived a small shake in the ground. She smelled the rain in the distance, felt the oppressive weight in the air. Her skin was damp.

Another clap of thunder, or was that him? For suddenly he was also laying on his side facing her. The similarity in sounds thrilled her. He chuckled and mussed her hat a bit. “Darling I was thinking of a rain jacket.” He snapped, a clap, and she found her damp skin covered with a tarp which did nothing to make her feel more dry. She began to hear the rain.

She smiled up at him and pulled the jacket off of her side where he slung it over her. He must’ve forgotten jackets go on the torso.

His eyes appraised her approvingly, his hand softly traced her curves.

“Thank you for inviting me. You picked the perfect location.” She expressed her gratitude softly, as if afraid to scare off the storm he ordered so efficiently.

He looked up, beyond her, smiled proudly. His roaming fingers pinched a nipple. “It looks just like a horror movie. I love watching those.”

The downpour began, her body felt just a drop or two and then suddenly water poured from the sky. She sputtered as she looked up in amazement. Rain…she had always wanted to feel rain.

He leaned forward, laughing, and kissed her. The water seeped in between their lips and she tasted the liquid between their sliding tongues. His hand cupped a breast and then slapped it playfully.

She shrieked in surprise and ended the kiss.

“Time to run towards that spooky house over there,” he directed, getting up and helping her to her feet. “They always run into a dilipulated house.”

“And then what?” she shouted over the tempest, curious and turned on. She wished she had watched a horror film to know what happened next.

“A beautiful disaster,” he promised, grinned, and began the chase after her.

********************

 Key Phrase: beautiful disaster

Word Limit: 400

Forbidden Words: dark, scary, pubic, down

Bonus Words: how do you feel in storms?

Extra Credit: tell about a time you should have been more concerned than you were 

 

**397 words, woohoo, for a minute I thought I was going to go over the word count that I set. That would be a disaster!

Still, I love storms. Every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. I am surprised I haven’t lost my love of storms. It’s obvious catching, this feeling, as my once scared son now often alerts me of storms to start opening up the house; he now loves to sit and listen silently (not for long, he is a kid after all) with me.

A time I should have been concerned was meeting a large group of military men, alone, that I had only known previously through online gaming. It was my first time meeting them in public, at a bar hours away in an unfamiliar town,. Getting drunk with them and then going to one of their houses wasn’t the smartest idea. Luckily, they were perfect gentlemen (if doing body shots off of me isn’t pushing the line). It was this experience that began my fascination with the military man, and to trust them in general more than I had previously.

 Posted by at 7:01 am
Oct 152014
 

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Photo courtesy of A to sub Bee

Welcome to Elust #63 -

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 #64? Start with the rules, come back November1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I am Sexy at Every Size
Censored? Never By My Hand #DarkErotica #BDSM
Hovering

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Show Me, Daddy
The pride of being a dom

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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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 Non-Fiction

Two Hours of Bliss
Save the Sheets
All He Could Do Was Moan.
I’ll Have What She’s Having
Attitude on the Autobahn
Go get a toy so you can fuck yourself.
Cumslut

Thoughts and Advice on Kink and Fetish

Why I love my Packer
Tools of the trade
On being a feminist and a dirty little slut
Stapled
Getting Acquainted
Not Your Fetish
Why Kinky Women Are All Gold-Digging Trash*
Schoolgirls a Lasting Obsession
Kink-Blocked by Burners

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

We Still Have To Work At It
Sex and Motherhood – Part 1
Tips for using sex toys & avoiding infections
How to Have Sex Naked
Bipolar Sex

Erotic Fiction

Oopps Wrong Number
Pour
Minister & Mistress
Surprises: A Threesome Story
Door Frame

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex, lies, videotape & being a decent person
Two Women One Topic

Events

Rubber Band Brilliance

Blogging

Stripping away the Shadows

Poetry

Sweat Slick – An Erotic Sonnet
The Poem Challenge, Day 6: “Owned”
Sixty Years On – A Lusty Limerick
Poetry: I Am….

Writing About Writing

On Writing Daddy Porn
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Oct 142014
 

A message was recently sent about me… it wasn’t very flattering. In it they attacked everything about me.

“She is actually not that pretty. Without all the makeup, elaborate 50s hair, and creative photography to make her look pretty, she is just a boring fat chick whose boobs look more like “man boobs” on an overweight 12 year old then female breasts.”

Ok, grammatical errors aside, clearly this is intended to be hateful, and body shame me in every way possible.

I don’t Photoshop my pictures. What you see is what you get. I know I’m hot. I’m a pretty girl in a ponytail, and no makeup, and I’m a smoking hot one when I dress up. These comments don’t bother me. They smack of jealously, and clearly people think I AM pretty if they have to use the line “…she’s not even that pretty”.

So, let’s talk about the only thing left. My breasts. Yup, it’s boob time.

handled

My breasts are frankly my biggest chink in the armor. I was born with polycystic ovarian syndrome. It caused me to start menstruating as a CHILD. One of the “symptoms” of PCOS is under developed breasts. I come from a long line of very tiny, very large breasted women… then there’s me. Even with PCOS, I still wear a C cup in most bras. There you go guys who always ask! They’re C’s!. Growing up around the women in my family though, left me with a complex I’ve never been able to shake. It doesn’t help that I’m NOT a tiny girl, so there’s always way too much room in shirts. It makes me cry sometimes to go clothes shopping.

Then there’s shape, and this is the BIGGEST problem for me. They aren’t shaped like porn stars. They’re spaced too far apart, so I buy bras that bully them into place. They aren’t the perfect tear drop, and while my nipples don’t point to the floor, I wish they were higher. I’ve seen women with the same shape as mine, but somehow I don’t hate THEIRS, I just hate mine.

I’ve spent years wanting a boob job. I want wonderful, perfect (in my eyes) breasts like the rest of my family. I WANT TO THROW AWAY MY BRAS AND LET THOSE BABIES FREE! I’m constantly cracking jokes that what men like about me, they could have themselves, for the low low price of $79.99 at Victoria’s Secret.

naked

I’m ashamed of my body.

I’ve grown to love the rest of myself, through years of work, the support of partners, and frankly, Sinful Sunday. The one thing (well two) that I haven’t grown to accept however, are my breasts. Because of that message though, I think it’s time to change that.

I LOVE ME!

If you don’t like me, that’s great, have a nice life. Body shaming makes YOU the asshole, not me. And it seems like no matter which way you go, there’s body shaming everywhere! My partner in crime wrote a post about being body shamed for being such a small target. Meanwhile, other people are shaming me for being curvy and not having huge breasts. It’s ridiculous! I have stood up against people mocking heavier people and been told “oh, YOU’RE not fat. So yeah, you’re a thick girl, but that person was FAT.”

FUCK OFF.

I’m tired of worrying so much about these things, and I’m tired of hearing it. You’re beautiful. You, the person. And we’re all unique, and that’s what makes us fabulous. So to all the girls out there that don’t have perfect breasts, or who feel bad about themselves. Stop. You’re lovely.

the "breast" selfie ever
Set the tatas free.

While this post was off topic for Wicked Wednesday, there are many other wonderful posts about making bad sex, sexy. Click the link below!

Wicked Wednesday

Oct 132014
 

The ball was to be their last. It was bittersweet.

The dress had so many layers to it, a perfect analogy to how Nicole felt. So much to hide covered in such pretty packaging. She was grateful for the matching burgundy mask, with its sparkling jewels accenting her sparkling tears. She felt stifled it both contraptions and she was done being stifled.

Christophe was to meet her here. She paused at the top of the grand staircase and looked into the hall, feeling flustered at such a daunting task as finding him amongst the crowd below with so much to hide. She snapped open her fan and waved it, hot and overwhelmed. She placed a gloved hand on Henry’s arm, looked up at him and smiled with veiled enthusiasm.

“Shall we?” he gestured to the stairs and slowly led her down into the depths. She tottered on too tight shoes, shoes not even revealed through the pompous fluff yet impractical nonetheless. She shook with too tight strung nerves, and yet Henry seemed oblivious to it all. He was always so composed, her companion. She took her hand back when they reached a more solid foundation, aimlessly moved about the room and made false pleasantries.

A mutual friend asked for a dance, and once again she fought not to stumble, feeling unbalanced. His lips moved, and while she couldn’t see his face, he would still have been like every other man in the room, every man but Christophe.

Out of the corner of her eye as she was being spun around, she thought she saw someone gaze at her intently. She almost missed a step, gripped her partner’s shoulder more tightly than normal. The man grinned at her. She scanned the room, as if nonchalantly, her heart beat capriciously.

And there he was, lopsided grin, ice blue eyes barely visible beneath a black veiled mask, matching dark hair softly curling at the edges of his mask. Her fingers itched.

“Excuse me, I need some air,” she mumbled and without even looking at her dance partner, disengaged and walked off of the dance floor, thoughtlessly drifting among the dancers towards a side of the room, trying to keep her roaming eyes focused on the porch behind. The crowd seemed to cease to exist, and the starry night beckoned her view from the open doors. She stepped out lightly, fresh, warm air soothed her skin and she decided to stroll through the gardens after pausing just a telling moment.

She smelled the earth, the roses and the bushes. She breathed in the sky. She daydreamed of a moment and stopped in the moonlit shadow of a tree. She heard a rustle in the darkness and felt a hand on her shoulder.

Nicole spun around, placed her arms around Christophe. It was so dark that she missed the magnificence of his eyes. Arms were placed around her and she leaned up to kiss him.

How badly she wanted his kisses, his love. Newly awakened passion surged through her and she softly whispered his name while running her hands inside of his jacket.

Arms gripped her upper arms and pushed her into the light. She wanted to see him too and looked up expectantly, only it wasn’t who she was expecting.

“Louis!” her mouth made a moue after the name, unbidden. Henry’s brother.

“And who were you expecting? Who is this Christophe?” his distaste was obvious, even through is mask. He looked nothing like Christophe, not nearly as tall, though just as wide. She cursed her daydreams into creating an illusion of a different man. She said nothing. He gripped one arm hard and shook her, her pile of curls precariously shifting on her head.  “I saw you disappear in the garden and when I approached you, you threw yourself at me!”

“No, you touched me unwarranted.” Her thoughts raced, her blood pounded. “Why did you disturb my peace? Why did you come after me?” She only had one weapon against him, and suddenly everything became apparent. She threw herself at his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him.

He clamped his lips together for just a moment, and then parted them. She felt relieved and tried not to sigh. He stepped back into the shadows of the tree.

The last ball I attended

The last ball I attended and someone I did not arrive with

“The price of your silence,” she stated as she gripped his jacket and began pulling it off. Dark, she pretended it was Christophe as his mouth slanted over hers in a possessive and demanding kiss.

Nicole wondered where Christophe was, if he had followed her as she passed him the room towards the outside, if he had seen Henry’s brother follow her and retreated, or if he was watching her even now. She prayed he wasn’t watching her even now. Men didn’t comprehend the reasons behind a woman’s actions.

And please, she implored silently, let him not see and feel the need to rescue her. That would be far more explaining than she felt capable of.

And in her current situation, Nicole felt quite capable, all of the sudden.

A Darker Flame Badge - S

 Posted by at 11:27 am
Oct 092014
 
Fire Down Below

Fetmano Alejo’s midsummer stunt Midsummer 2010

Bruce didn’t scream, even though he could feel what he was positive the melting of his shoes, the lick of the fiery tongues from the flame. He was also positive that his penis, that excited member that his lover had just wrapped lips and sucked while caressed the balls before the transfer, was going into hiding so much that no one would be able to see it if anyone was around.

Bruce must’ve been dropped in the wrong place. His lover was so confident of the scene. “Haven’t you seen the old movies of the heathen savages?” he asked of Bruce when the idea was first broached. “I love those movies. They circle a big bonfire naked and screaming.”

Bruce wasn’t screaming at the moment. He also wasn’t circling. He’d worn sneakers – didn’t want to hurt his sensitive feet, prepared himself to be hard and proud and strong, drop to the ground in a perfect crouch, and begin the chant and scuffle around the flames. His lover felt this would be the perfect scene to reflect the movies he loved so much.

Bruce loved him and agreed to the scene.

His feet hit the exact center of the fire, the glowing yellow, orange, and red coals instantly up his legs. He thought he saw his lover, couldn’t even call out for the pain and the blankness overtaking him.

He thought he heard, “sacrifice to the gods,” over the unknown howling, not realizing the noise was coming from his own parched body.

******************************

Key Words: Shoes

Flash Fiction Friday

Banned Words: Socks

Word Limit: 238 words

Bonus Words: Get +10 words for each adjective used that means “hot” but isn’t “hot”

 Posted by at 7:18 am