May 312013

Sometimes, when you’re single, or separated from your partner an easy way to spice up your day is mutual masturbation.

Sexting, Skype, and phone calls are becoming more and more a part of everyday masturbation tools, much like porn. With high quality and ease of photo taking available on your phone, naughty antics is mobile and convenient.

I have been doing a lot more masturbation with friends recently than ever before.

Confession: I honestly just started a few months ago.

If I’m by myself it’s usual, quick, quiet, and minimally satisfactory. Throw in a partner though, and suddenly I was taking my time, savoring and getting off on the fact that the person on the other end was getting off on me.

Messages, pictures, phone calls.

And now, I’ve evolved into what I call Dial-A-Dom™

I’d flirted with him quite a bit. Sending him pictures, separating him from the pack by giving him peeks, at me, my life, my desires. Eventually he called and heard me orgasm. Then we would orgasm together on the phone and I’d reach new heights, knowing he was coming with me.

Over the months, we evolved in the things we did, the way we spoke. I’d follow directions, I’d want to please him. I’d do thing specifically and especially for him. Then he made me wait, made me ask, made me soak my panties in anticipation.

That’s when the honorific came. Suddenly I was a pet, a slave, and subject to the whims of my Master.

Suddenly my masturbation wasn’t just mutual, it was interdependent. I’m coming harder, having more than one more readily than normal, and am eager and obedient.

This is different than normal D/s play or relationships I’ve been in. It’s new. It’s never going to be anything more than a fun relationship over the phone, but yet I find it fulfills needs and desires that have gone without attention in quite some time. It relieves a great deal of stress I’ve had lately and leaves me with a smile on my face.

I’m quite enjoying exploring myself and others with mutual masturbation, sexting, and whispered (or screaming) phone calls.

So thank you, to the friends I’ve enjoyed lately. Most especially, to the man who makes me his good, little, satisfied, pet.


 Posted by at 6:49 pm
May 282013

When I was younger, I slept with a (1) man for a few months. Unbeknownst to me, several months after we broke up, I hooked up with a (2) friend he had. While that relationship was no more than one of sex, we did have sex quite often, and I met some of their other friends, another (3) of which I hooked up with just once.

So when the three of them expected me to start sleeping with a fourth friend of theirs, I was mortified. Just because I ended up sleeping with three friends does not mean that I was going to passed around to their crew of friends. Just because I liked sex, and had it when I wanted it, doesn’t mean that I would sleep with everyone who crossed my path, that I “ought” to sleep with men who offered me sex, especially if it was someone I knew. I was promiscuous with casual sex and having a good time, but not indiscriminately – I chose who I was attracted to, who I was going to have sex with, and if I even wanted another partner.

The friend was equally mad at me, and felt a sense of entitlement, like it was “his turn”. They even went so far to show up at my house, these four guys, and try to sell/persuade me this the fourth guy. I was shocked, embarrassed, hurt, unsure of how to respond. It was one of those freezing up moments,
when time crawls so slowly, when you desperately want to hit fast forward and see it end.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep with that fourth guy, and the other three fast became a (painful) memory. I wanted nothing to do with them after that.

They had labeled me in their minds and to their friends, and they felt that I ought to stay within the boundaries and expectations of that label. It felt shameful that they labeled me at the time, though I hardly recognized that was the emotion. And I allowed that overruling emotion to define me, and I rebelled, and I shut off my own sexuality for a year. A YEAR, without intercourse, without finding a companion to share my desires and sexually fantasies with.

I can look back on that year and say I was proud of my self-control, except it wasn’t my control that regulated it – it was the control that I gave those four guys. It was the control that I gave to society’s definition that I was a slut, promiscuous with the negative connotations, an oversexualized female.

And I can even point the finger at myself that I had done the same negative judgments, criticizing my virgin friends for not experiencing sex, assuming they were scared, unable to find someone, or…or… the list goes on.

What I should have done is realized that they have a choice and they CHOOSE when to intimate, and with whom. The same choice that I had, that I wanted other people to respect. It wasn’t until the judgment was cast at me that I realized that I was guilty of the same type of behavior.

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

 Posted by at 9:45 pm
May 242013

 FFF Prompt = Predicament

Word Length = 250 words
Forbidden Words = “Hard” “Peek” “Trouble”
Bonus words = 25 extra words if Gain 1 new follower this week
Extra Credit if you make it somewhat truthful.

My man was in a predicament. I’d a large bed, even more amazing by there was a metal “halo” hanging over it, perfect for tying his hands up. I blindfolded him, but not before he got my nipple in his mouth and sucked, slightly using teeth as I pulled away. 

I stepped back to survey my toy. He was so sexy, his arms, I wanted to run my nails lightly over them, feeling the muscles tense in anticipation. I wanted to run my fingers through his chest hair, nip at his nipples like he had the audacity to do to me; wanted to trail my tongue down his stomach, following indent of stomach to hip to gloriousness. 

His small black underwear must’ve slipped sideways. His cock was peeking out, head already so swollen. I had trouble in past moving closer to not tip him, but I did softly and breathed on the penis tip. He tensed, his stomach clenching the slightest amount. I leisurely moved mouth over the head, careful not to touch skin, before pressing lips right under the head. I circled my tongue around the tip, underneath the ridge of the head, sucking hard as I slowly moved up the brief distance until all that was left was a small kiss at the top; he had sucked in his breath when first sucked and exhaled almost as slowly as my progress up. I kissed the precum, a chaste kiss, and licked my lips.    

I deliberated my next move… 

*Truthful elements: I have a very large bed (California King) with four posts and metal connecting the posts, meeting in the middle like a halo. I’ve not tied a man to this, but I have tied men to the posts, and other than being completely naked while tied up, the rest is pretty much all true.  

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 7:00 pm
May 232013
Most girls outgrow traditional cover-up panties when they get older, and they move onto something sexier, be it g-string, thong, boy shorts… the list is long. I didn’t. I kept with the same boring underwear . You know, the kind that cover every bit and normally reserved for days that the monthly comes.
A sister changed over, and then another. Watching the g-string go up their crack, I asked, “doesn’t it bother you having something up your butt all day?”
“No, you don’t even feel it, it’s so thin. Unlike your underwear, where you get wedgies and they suck. And there aren’t any panty lines in dresses and pants.”
I wasn’t convinced, and didn’t change over.
I was in a long term relationship. We bought a house together, shared a checking account (there is no bigger commitment to me – not even marriage, than these two things).  
We booked a cruise, and I bought a slinky dress (which I normally don’t wear). My underwear showed so apparently that I decided that at least for this dress, I would wear a g-string.
And I was sold from that point on. My sister was right: no wedgie, fabric so slight that I was unaware of it after a period of time.  
Sure, I slowly transitioned from my boring underwear to g-strings, and then tried some boy shorts, and other types. I began feeling sexier about my undergarments. I wanted all the sudden for my bras to match my sexy panties. I no longer worried if the pants or dresses would show my underwear.
My partner started questioning why all the sudden I was trying to be sexy. Who did I have to impress? Who was going to see under my clothes? Why did I need to replace one type with another? Why was I wanted more form fitting pants and purchasing more dresses?
…Who was seeing under my clothes?  Why was I changing? Why was I showing more skin? Why did I start dressing like a whore?
                                   Who was I sleeping with?
He didn’t believe my simplistic reasons, he wasn’t convinced. There was a sinister reason, he believed. Suddenly everything I did was suspect, I could no longer do anything without being questioned.
                                 All over my choice of panties.
Yoga I’ve been doing for years: why did I still have to do? Why was I trying to be more flexible, to move in more positions?
Eating healthy: didn’t I look good enough?
Watching a new television program: who introduced me to that?
Going out with friends: was I really going out with friends? “Send me a picture of you and your friends.”
This went on for quite awhile, until I had enough. Sadly, looking back, I let it continue far too long. It might not have started with panties, it might have triggered by so many different factors that I was unaware of (his friend was cheated on, he was gaining weight, we were so serious so young…the list is far longer than the types of panties). Unfortunately, the material covering my ass was just the first target. And who knows: it could’ve been the change in undergarments.
But my ass, and the lack of material covering it, was out of there.
It’s amazing how some people perceive fabric at our innermost layer.  For some, it reflects our innermost fantasies, desires. It represents us, our scent, our secret, our sex. It can reflect our time of the month, our insecurities, our confidence, our sensual side.
It can create suspicion, incite lust, kick start relationships, or end them.  


 Posted by at 8:30 am
May 222013
“I have the bouquets right here. But before we go in, I want to discuss something with you guys. We all know she never, ever expected to get married, and recently she’s been questioning this decision. We all know they love each other, that they will be just fine. She’s getting cold feet, is all. So I’ve posted family members at all the exit-” laughter “I’m not even joking. But we’re closest to her, so we need to watch her carefully for any signs of bolting, cut her off before she can get started.”
“No problem,” mixed in with other agreement sounds.
 “Great, her parents are all ready to walk/escort/force her down. Mom on one side, dad on the other, it’s perfect.” The hands holding me were cool, belonging to the calm and collective voice, the person obviously in charge. I thought I was being given to the person in charge, but she sounds in charge…who…what am I getting myself into? I’m meant for happiness, not an emotional woman escaping prison confines. We moved into another room, and I was put down for final touches to the lady in white, her complexion almost matching the dress color. I was handled by the steady hands again before being handed over to freezing shaking ones. Did anyone even take the time to sniff me in appreciation? I was the perfect perfume gone unnoticed.
A deep sigh above me, the owner’s hands were sweaty (seriously: sweaty but frigid?). They hurt in their fierce grip. I was concerned at any moment my lovely fragrant petals would be ripped apart, my stems bent or torn. Music started, and I was almost dropped,  a man’s hand moved to my side to steady and stop my descent. Whew, close one, but if she decided to run…would she toss me on the ground? Shove me into a door or the chest of some person trying to tackle her like I was some football? I was meant to be tossed daintily into another waiting woman’s hands, where I would be cherished as the love symbol that I am. I am delicate…though apparently not as delicate as this person’s nerves.
We began walking, and the quaking became severe. How could anyone appreciate my beauty if I was a blur in her hands? Of course, with the back drop of her white-even the hands, my colors had to be vibrant. At least there’s that comfort, though small comfort that that was. Oh my, I’m beginning to feel woozy from the shaking, or is it choking of her hands? I can’t breathe, I can’t see, why won’t the world stop spinning? What….


Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

 Posted by at 8:55 pm
May 172013

The fit was snug as his hands finished securing the clap, arranging my hair just so, then taking a step back to view what he had done.

This is how my love looks. A tangible thing. I belonged to him wholly and the collar was just the expression of that love in the physical.

He looked at me with longing and hunger in his eyes, and I could see how moved he was,
“you look beautiful”.

My throat constricted, but not from the mark of his ownership around my delicate throat. Lips brushing forehead, fingers grazing along my breast. Then came the faint click of the leash being attached.

My pupils dilated and my heart beat in a deeper, louder rhythm than before. My arousal spiked from the sure knowledge that I would be firmly guided and directed. This is how my love looks.

Tonight was about him. The show of his power and strength. The true testament of his control. He would make me taunt with tension, then melt with relief.

His strong hand and graceful fingers tightened suddenly around the tether to my collar. As he brought my face to his and grasped my chin, my knees knocked as his lips devoured mine.

With a mere moving of his arm my body was directed to the place where he desired it. My head pulled back, the collar keeping me in tight position as he whispered “I want you to feel. I want you to focus. I want you to be my good girl like I know you are.”

Fingers brush, bringing tension to my nerves, my body alive and humming its pleasure. Soft sighing air brushing gently past sensitive skin.

This is how my love looks. The complete submission of my will into his hands with the beauty of my enslavement. The freedom, brought to me once so ultimately bound, profound in its beauty.

 Posted by at 10:20 pm
May 172013

People ask how I became an exhibitionist  They remark with awe that I have no shame, in fact I delight and glory in showing off the photos I have of my body.

The truth is, there are two things at play here. I take all of my photos myself, with my cell phone no less (imagine what I could do with a REAL camera!), and I am incredibly proud of the talent for beautiful pictures that I have found in myself. Something akin to magic just happens when I get a camera in my hands recently and my work is just getting better.

Here’s the biggest push that made me an exhibitionist:

I hated my body. 

I had gorgeous friends and I certainly couldn’t measure up to that. Slowly over the years though, there was a shift in my thinking, and as that shift happened, I started getting complimented more. As I settled finally into my skin, I exuded sex. I breath sex. I walk sex. I am sexy. Then, with the blog, I was reluctantly persuaded to submit a picture to Sinful Sunday, hosted by Mollysdailykiss (*see the picture here). Nervous doesn’t quite cover the emotions I was feeling. I’m not skinny by any stretch of the imagination. I was bracing for negativity. Then the comments starting coming in…

Holy Hell

My body is beautiful. That’s all I kept hearing. There was so much response and enthusiasm I was suddenly empowered. I started pushing the envelope, taking more pictures, revealing more of myself. With every step I have taken, my empowerment has grown. Now I can’t keep my clothes on. I revel in the things my body can do. It can provoke desire, lust, longing. It can comfort and bring beauty to someone. This all, just in the viewing of it.

So why am I an exhibitionist? Because I’m beautiful, and I like sharing.

So really, it’s all because of you guys. You got me naked, and you keep me that way and loving it.

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 7:42 pm