Oct 312014
 

An excellent example of not saying yes to a scene in the kink community. Kayla Lords’ With a Flourish is wicked.

 

Will Crimson, from The Erotic Writer, takes a moment and turns it into a sensual stretch of breaths. So sexy and seductive, how he writes.

 

Molly’s Daily Kiss writes about tools you need to be a Dom, but the things listed are not what many may first think of – they’re far more important.

 

Not being a very visual person for the most part, BigButtBBW has a picture that instantly got me, and the words to go along with it are amazing.

 

This man seriously (and unknowingly) seduces me across a computer screen with his words, they just get me every time. Easily Aroused writes Elemental.

 

Domme’s perspective, and one incredibly hot story of orgasm denial, by Euclideanpoint.

 

I don’t find tentacle erotica sexy most of the time, so I was blown away by this story from VanillaMom; the characters were incredibly convincing and the scene was so hot.

 

Butchtastic wrote a sentimental piece that expresses how to make love, in endearing phrases.

 Posted by at 12:49 pm
Oct 292014
 

It’s eye opening to see posts bloggers write, that instead of the warm and fuzzies, it’s the reality of life and the struggles we all go through. Like so many people I go through struggles within myself about anxiety, depression, body image, and self worth.   I often try to block out negative things in the world around me, but it wasn’t until recently that I realized that a great deal of some of my more recent struggles weren’t perpetuated by media, but rather, quite a bit closer to home. So close, in fact, that they were in the bed next to me… closer still, in my heart.   I’m a bit fragile, I realize. I dive in too fast, I give too much, and I live too passionately. There are a great many things in my life that I’ve set up for myself.

In my life, there have been 3 men who are my kryptonite.   Bachelor 1) Is honestly one of the most admirable men I know. He somehow manages a military career while balancing being one of the most amazing parents I’ve seen to a child with a disability. To see them together would melt the hardest of hearts. I fell fast because there was nothing about him that wasn’t appealing to me. He wasn’t ready at the time and broke things off. We remained in contact and I watched the pattern repeat, hoping that eventually, he’d be in the mental space and I’d get another chance. He loved that I was so sexually open, and we’d frequently hook up. He tells me what an amazing woman I am, and I hold that in my heart.

Bachelor (of sorts) 2: geez where to start. Everything about this man had me wrapped in a web. Literally as a matter of fact when we’d do rope bondage together. Our BDSM relationship was just made hotter by the absolute mind meld we had. I’ve never been so mentally stimulated in my life and the sex was incredible. The hiccup came when I realized that’s his considered separation ended with him deciding against leaving his marriage.   Yes I know, bad A, but frankly I got involved, and then entangled, while he was separating. So when he gave me his, completely sympathetic, reasons for staying, and expressed that he was too attached to me to just let me go, I continued to see him. There were things about us that, I too, wasn’t willing to walk away from.

Bachelor (again, of sorts) 3: our story, which I’ve touched on briefly in one post, and have written more fully in another (yet to be published) is the stuff of dreams. We met on the highway. In moving vehicles on the highway, and it’s a memory I cherish. From the first contact on the phone, I felt at ease. Because of circumstances, we ended up talking for almost a year before we met. I opened the door on the day he finally came over annnd…. That was it. I was home. I’d found the home I didn’t know I was missing in a person I had just met (in real life). This one is particularly hard to describe because it felt almost, sacred. Beyond description. We both fell like rocks. He was separated from his spouse, and sorely missing his children. Later, out of no where, the wife then said she wanted to work on things and in an instant, my perfect relationship was gone. He had disappeared. I was shattered and heartbroken and couldn’t understand. A few months later he contacted me through email and I agreed to meet. We cried together for hours. The pain was so keen for both of us and we couldn’t bear to be apart. I can’t tell you, other than love, why I agreed to see him despite his still being with his wife. They don’t like each other. I know this for a fact. I think fear of change, and fear of being kept from his kids is what keeps him there, the wife stays because she can’t afford to leave financially. It hurt a great deal for me to say I could no longer see him as it wasn’t fair, but yet, I couldn’t help how my heart felt when he’d message me, how much I lit up at merely seeing his name in my inbox.

I’ve been going through a low period lately and was full of self loathing. I often lose my self in thought and tend to be introverted during these times. It was during one of these ruminations that I realized: I was self perpetuating the feelings of being a second class girl, by allowing myself to be treated as a second class girl by these men, and allowing them to think that it’s ok. I’m sure they see nothing wrong.

Having feelings for Bachelor 1 isn’t his fault. Agreeing to see him while he’s in between girlfriends isn’t his fault. However, it speaks volumes about his view of me when he’ll actually date these other women, but never me. It’s a toxic situation and degrading, but yet, that flame of hope is always right there in the background, prompting me to continue to be there.   It’s an incredibly similar story for the others. They kept track of me, keep in touch with me, and try to watch over me. No matter the story, or my empathetic response, when it comes down to brass tax, I’m a second class girl to them. I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to be with. I understand and support them in their decision of matrimony, I’m not speaking out against that.

The action of holding onto me, turning me into the “side chick” is the problem and degrading. It is decimating my self worth and warping my self view.   The most dynamic, compelling, , intense, and satisfying relationships in my life make it incredibly hard for me to walk away. Being on FIRE with someone just makes all the other relationships somehow dull, missing pieces. I feel like an asshole because I’ll still be involved, still be in a relationship where I am valued and treated as nothing less than first place, and it’s tepid… I question myself if I’m just a misery junky, if this is all my fault. I can’t wrap my head around all of it and I never will most likely. I just wish that I could have both. I feel like, I’m worth it… right? I’m worth it? That shouldn’t be an impossible hope. I despair that it will ever happen, and these struggles continue.

Oct 272014
 

Tied up, teased with a little Lelo vibrator, he worked me up to more. He moved it with agonizing slowness, infinite patience, circled each nipple with the vibrations, kissed each globe, moving the vibrator down,

so

so

slowly

down.

Edged at my lips, traced the plump folds, around and back and down again. Touched so softly, so gently that the vibrations were diminutive, and then pushed slightly inside, so slowly and yet consistent until embedded between my folds. In and out, faster and faster, increased the pace, patient to allow my body to adjust and welcome and build and peak.

After I came from that, he moved up and positioned his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me much time to adjust, just slowly lowered his length as if he were entering my sex. I breathed slowly, in time to his movement, conscious of lips blocking teeth, slid my tongue along his length, flicked and glided, felt him grow as he reached the back of my throat. He pulled out, moved back down.

And holy fuck, out came the loud intimidating roar of the Hitachi wand. He pressed it against the side of my thighs, moved across first one lip and then the other, down the thighs, back up, taunted, teased, not quite touched.

I wanted him to move it just slightly to my crevice…I didn’t want that thing even near my sex.

Oh god, and then it pulsated and vibrated at my entrance, and moved up and down my folds from clit to sex, and I arched so abruptly, and tried to pull against my ties, that my lower back hurt from the effort.

I came despite the distraction of a sore back. He moved the wand off and my body released so much tension so suddenly that I screamed from that, and the bed seemed to sink around my form. His cock was back in my mouth, and he moved even more forcefully inside of it. When he hit the back of my throat, he kept it there, and positioned himself more over me, thrusting down into it.

I was concerned, I was helpless to stop his invasion; I was apprehensive about my small mouth accommodating the face fucking, as he seemed inclined to do. If my wrists weren’t tied, I would’ve used them to moderate how deeply he went; I had to trust him.

He thrusted a couple of times, and I was just a reciprocal for his mouth, offering my tongue and lips as my meager sacrifice, the back of my throat distracted me from breathing.

He twitched a few times, to the point where I was concerned that he would cum in my mouth – hoped he would.

Then he withdrew. His fingers searched out for my sex, and then his tongue. His glorious tongue that twisted and turned and curled in the perfect spot at my entrance since the first time he tasted me.

Both his fingers and his tongue had me back up climaxing. But he wasn’t done.

There was an attachment to the wand he wanted to try. It had three prongs and he asked if it was acceptable. I gulped and nodded, hoping it was, unsure if I was willing to try, unable to find my voice to protest at that moment.

And then it was sliding into my body as he slid himself into my mouth; the wand buzzed on, and holy fuck

it         was     fucking           ah-mazing.

I couldn’t stop orgasming. My core tightened to such an extent, my breath held painfully.

I fucked the machine so hard, came so hard, tightened so much, strained so much.

I wanted to get away, I wanted it to continue, I wanted him inside of me, I just wanted him to stop.

And then the attachment was gone, though the tip of the wand still stayed between my drenched legs. And his mouth was back to claim possession again. I moaned and kept forgetting to breathe around him, and he twitched and tensed and grew and relaxed several times against my tongue that I was sure that he would be pleased and I would taste the salty unique taste of him.

But he wanted to be pleased inside my body, and soon lowered himself down by my ankles, released first one, then the other, and watched my face as he slowly inserted a We Vibe. Once it was in, I felt close to reaching a peak already. He held his delicious head and teased it around my entrance, flicked it back and forth, and then leaned in and thrusted violently. The full length of him slid inside and hit a spot (why was he seamlessly hitting it?), the vibrations of the vibe pushed a strong orgasm.

And after a quick breath, I was pushed back up to a peak and kept there. I kept begging to be let down, for him to cum, for me to breath, to … hell, I didn’t even know what I begged for, at times just made animalistic noises and screams, needed to breathe and be let down, pulled and yanked on my wrist cuffs so much that my wrists hurt and my fingers felt strained. And finally, finally, after I was screamed on the peak for what seemed a lifetime, I heard his answered response of pleasure, felt his body slow the rhythm he found his own pleasure at, felt his thighs push and tense against me as if afraid of falling.

When he moved off, I muttered how terribly cruel he was to keep me at that point for so long. How it was terrible in its magnificence (actually I kept the magnificence to myself, and just complained). My eyes wouldn’t open, my body wouldn’t relax, but my mouth could complain. He wasn’t buying the complaints, told me I was welcomed.

*Wicked Wednesday is about firsts. This has been in drafts for a long time; it was my first time with a wand, and the first time my mouth was fucked without my control at all.  It’s nice when the first time is a gloriously fun time!

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 6:38 am
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 ~

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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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