Jun 282013

FFF Prompt – Stratagem – June 28
 Key Word = Stratagem
Word Length = 700
Forbidden Words = Spy, Tuxedo
Bonus Points – Quote your favorite line (and link to the source in case we don’t know it)

She leaned over, rested her chin on her hand propped up on the table, hair cascading to the side, and winked. He cocked his head to the side, unsure what the wink was for.

After all…he was winning.

The city lights shined brightly in sharp contrast to the night sky, just as her nudity contrasted his evening attire. They were both in a suite, sipping champagne, seated at a table playing chess; but he was fully dressed, even wearing his shoes, and she was kneeling on the chair, naked, nipples almost grazing the table. Clearly, they were on unequal ground. He was aloof, clothed in the uppermost formal shield; she was exposed, vulnerable.

Still, a small smile, one corner turned up slightly more in a crooked smugness, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at the chess board. He was puzzled by her reaction.

She couldn’t believe her position. When she normally took jobs, it wasn’t to sit naked and play chess, though she was sure he would have other, more wanton requests. But chess? And then what? Checkers, moving to cards, moving to naked Twister? Or was he too refined for that?

He would want his monies worth, of that she was sure, was just unsure what that entailed for this client. And yet he sat across from her, gazing intently at her, equally focused on the beautiful board between them, and gave an impression of superiority.  Little did he know her stratagem.

She leaned back, pretended concern, and moved. His eyes had drifted to her hands, watched as she gracefully manipulated a small figurine. Her hair shifted slightly to cover one small but perfect breast, the other breast revealing a hardened nipple. She studied the board; he studied her.

But pride would not let him be distracted by her beauty. He moved a piece, and his eyes widened with disbelief when she reached across the board suddenly, and moved to checkmate. She clapped in delight, still leaned over the table, eyes on the winning board; he stared at her, eyes darkening and broadening, leaning back.

She looked up, a smile on her gorgeous face, and saw his expression. Smile vanished. “Would you like to play another game? We have all night,” she offered as reparation.

He casually swiped the pieces onto the floor. “Let’s play the game you were meant to play,” he said, his voice gruff with intent, and passion. He moved next to her, stepping on her dress. She seemed concerned, and he felt his manhood harden. He felt powerful with her unease, and grabbed her hair, ignoring her mewling sound, pulling her off the chair. She fell, not able to get her legs out to catch her descent, and tears were brought to her eyes with violent tugging of her hair.

She made a sound: half whimper, half plea, and situated herself to her knees. She tentatively reached up and unzipped his pants, adjusting his sex through his boxers, and wrapped her lips around his shaft.

His hand still in her hair, he moved his other hand to grip behind and slightly to the side, and thrusted in, until he felt his tip hit the back of her throat, until he heard her gag and almost retch, and watched as tears formed in her eyes.

He chuckled, murmured as he stroked the side of her face, “I think you are losing,” as he watched her continue stroking his cock with her mouth, eager to please, cautious in case he forced her too far again.

She moved rhythmically, glancing up often to gauge his reaction, trying to bring him to pleasure quickly. She felt him tense, throw back his head, and knew he was going to cum. Her fingertips scanned ever so slightly, delved inside, and gripped. She swiftly pushed away when she felt fluid pumping into his base, cum splattering onto her breasts as she rose up, slashing with the knife she gripped across his throat, blood mixing with his cum on her porcelain skin, watched as he now kneeled, hands going to reach his throat, but not making it before dropping with his body onto the floor.

She was dismayed that he bled on her dress and she didn’t have another. She also felt like gloating, stepping barefoot over him, saying, “*wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.”
*Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, an excellent perspective on mythology, and one of my favorite books. My absolute favorite quote of all time.
Now, this is over 700 words slightly, which I’ve never gone over. At first I added more fluff because for FFF this is a lot of words allotted this week, and I am not used to it for these prompts. Then the story grew, and I had to trim, but I liked my fluff at the beginning, and couldn’t stand cutting out anymore. So it remains. I’d get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, but I can’t guarantee what I’ll do after that, so let’s just call it even, shall we?
 Posted by at 5:21 am
Jun 262013

After reading Girl on the Net, I decided to take the complicated challenge of describing my orgasm. They have some differences, which I tried to address as they occurred, but for the most part, they follow this pattern:

It starts with pressure inside of me, a pressure of fiction, an awareness of movement in and out of me.

Then I begin to tighten into the pressure. I can do this at whim, but more often than not, it just happens. When I am short on time, know this is a quickie, or am tired, I can tighten, making me come closer to the sensation faster. When I want a slow buildup, I just allow it to naturally happen, enjoy the other sensations besides the focusing on clamping down into it.

But my orgasm gets going when I tighten around whatever is inside of me,  increasing the pressure, not a consistent tighten, more like a gripping and releasing of muscles(my lover will feel this). My body grows taunt due to this tightening. I begin breathing heavier. My mind empties of thoughts. In and out, pressure on certain places, like the g-spot, deep inside, at my entrance; or held pressure in one spot that is almost so overwhelming I want it slid against rather than held against.

All my thoughts, all my concentration, is on my muscles, on feeling the pressure build, of the gripping and releasing. I feel drawn, almost leaning my body into my groin. My stomach clenches down, my whole body becomes tense. The clenching around becomes more intense, the coming and going of pleasure building, the waves of pleasure building higher and higher, crashing faster and faster.

It is not a letting go, unless of cohesive thoughts. It is an absolute building of pressure that is pleasant nerve endings being vibrated, thronged deeper and longer, spreading from inside my crotch, my lower belly, gripping tightly, spreading suddenly as if heat of a wildfire, moving up my torso and down my thighs at the same time, making me catch my breath, rending my limbs tense and immobile trying to clutch at anything (my toes may curl painfully at this point of clutching), my breath catching (sometimes too long), my head spinning, my thoughts completely blacking out. It is a force burning throughout my entire body, clutching it so tightly, making it rigid, flushing out even to my skin. An awareness of every muscle, a pressure so hard in my core – it is pleasure so focused, a tingling sensation that doesn’t lower or stop.

It is quick, but it leaves me weak with its force. The tingling begins to actually represent tingling, with the skin overly sensitive, my limbs tremble, I remember to breathe, my head is still slowly spinning, my thoughts seem so distant, as if I am far away from my body, amazed at the power of my orgasm. My body is aware of how tense it is, my sex completely lets go of what is inside of me – as if taking a deep breath and releasing it, my body and limbs heavy, my chest heaving from erratic breathing, my throat raw either from screaming with the force (which allows a deeper orgasm) or from the effort in suppressing any noise (a weaker orgasm as it requires me to focus on a place other than my pleasure).

I feel like I am sinking, my thoughts lazily floating back into my head, my body relaxing after its fierce control. I become aware of my lover again; or toy or fingers are removed. If my breathing was held, I may see black spots blurring my vision. My head may hurt, a throbbing headache, if I held my breath. This is the point where I become aware of my toes if they curled, as I try to painfully stretch them. My fingertips may have been too clenched into my lover’s skin, and just now feel the muscles protesting. I may become aware of the sting of raw skin that I scratched in my clenching (I will sometimes clamp nails into my thighs or calves if I am holding them up). My stomach may be sore, feeling as if I did too many crunches or sit ups. My heart hammers inside my ribcage, thunders in my ear.

If is a strong orgasm, regardless of movement inside of me, I may still feel my muscles clenching inside still, gripping and releasing, shuddering, giving lapses of pleasure still, echoing throughout my body but not causing that tenseness, just a brief flutter of pleasant nerves being surged through, slowly until they dwindle to nothing. I call them aftershocks (as they mimic an earthquake’s to me). Or if movement/stimulation is still there, the clenching follows the pattern of movement, gripping inside of me, releasing, quicker than the first time, with more intensity, until I clench around it tightly, my body reacting far quicker, the wave of pleasure rising far higher and crashing more violently than the first time, and another orgasm grips me.

A following orgasm; feeling just like the first, but more intense, spasms rippling through me. I become dizzy far easier, and more likely to hold my breath. Control over my noises is less likely after the first orgasm. I am less in control of it happening or the speed in which it happens.

I am capable of multiple orgasms. I have not tested nor counted how many I can achieve in one session, though I am sure the number is more than five that I have accomplished. It leaves me weary, shaken, depleted, incapable of sound thinking, my nerve endings so sensitive to touch of different textures. I am aware of the softness of sheets, the sheen on my skin, the air flowing across, the crispness of a sting of a spank of my ass, the burning of any skin been marked too roughly, the imprint of where pressure used to be, the chill and the heat of objects around me.

I am easier to get to orgasm from touches other than penetration, as my muscles inside my sex are far easier to tighten and clench, and need nothing to clench around to begin that cycle of spreading pleasure.  If I orgasm from clitoral stimulation, it begins in my clit, sliding, the pressure dances in time to my sex, pumping the pressure of pleasure from groin outward again. If I orgasm from my nipples, they are often pinched hard, the pinching becomes a focused pain of pleasure, it travels and tugs to my groin, which clenches tight down echoing the pressure on my nipples, so tight that my body comes again.  

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Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 8:14 pm
Jun 252013
The buildup, it takes me higher and higher until I can’t think. Tied up, immobile. Unable to move and at his mercy.  He knows my limits and he pushes them always.
I haven’t seen him in so long and he is determined to make up for lost time. New pleasures, new tortures, all await me. I brought toys of the delightful kind, he brought toys of the torturous.
I’m bound from head to foot in a delightful design with the ropes that were cut just for me. He fits a ball gag in my mouth, a new toy for us. He’d had me wear my plug out all afternoon while we running errands and now, he was making me enjoy its presence.
My heart rate spikes as he tells me it’s best not to have the plug in for what comes next, it might be too intense. That’s when I hear something click, and a whoosh; just before something small has a sharp impact on the tender flesh of my inner thigh…
Gloves have spanked and smoothed skin, a leather belt has lashed welts into tender flesh, and now this new tantalizing curiosity. I’ve no idea what it is. Another click, another sharp sting of impact. A few more and he asks if I know what it is.
I’m forced to answer in the negative. I’ve no clue as to what the object is, and frankly, it’s hard to think clearly with the exquisite torture I’m being put through as is. That’s when he raises my blindfold and it takes me a moment to identify the bright orange and blue object in my lovers sadistically clever hands…
It’s a nerf gun. I’m currently being shot in the pussy with a nerf gun. He switches now to the gloves again, my tender flesh brightly red from its abuse. Suddenly my lover uses yet another new implement he’s bought: an industrial abrasive scrub brush. It’s rubbed on my raw skin and my eyes begin to water… I moan into my gag and stretch against my binds…
The exquisite torture he is putting me through has come to a crescendo and I’m crying. The gag is new to me and the saliva pooling from my mouth, coupled with the ache in my jaw from the size of it, are adding to the intense sensations I’m experiencing throughout the rest of my body. Mascara is running down my face and I’m moaning for all that I’m worth when my lover stops and comes to my head to remove my gag. He’s petting my tear stained cheeks and kissing my forehead and asking if I’m ok.
I’m confused and befuddled. I don’t know why he stopped. He suddenly wipes a tear from my cheek and examines it shining on his finger. He looks past to me to say something I was definitely not expecting.
“I hate to see you cry, I can’t stand it.”
My heart melts just a little bit more as I point out I almost always cry when we play rough, it’s honestly just one of the steps to subspace. He assures me he knows, but that this time of play was particularly intense and he never wants to hurt me beyond that which I enjoy.
I love this man and his care of me. We are far from perfect, but we are perfect for each other. As he soothes me and I sooth him of his worries, the heat of desire returns to our eyes. We use the smaller ball for the gag to ease my aching jaw and he kisses me and returns the blindfold to my eyes.
I know he has gotten over the heartbreak of my tears as he makes me pick a number between 1-40… I low ball it, instinctively knowing I won’t like it and less is better. 4 is the number of thumb tacks I chose to sit on with my abused posterior. I’ve no idea of this prior to him assisting me down (of course, I am still tied and blindfolded) onto the sharp needle points. Those hateful tears sporting back up instantly and I’m furiously shaking my head no. No no no! I can’t, I won’t, it’s too much.
He instantly picks me back up and soothes me again. I’m in for more intense treatment throughout the night, more tears, deep subspace, then finally that heightened crescendo of being filled with him, the thing I’ve been longing for all day.
Although my tears had moved him that night, despite being tears from the incredibly sweet pain I craved and which he gave me to heighten my pleasure, it is the true tears I must hide. For come morning we must part and my love will no longer be mine again for quite some time to come.
The tears from pain are how you know my body is ready, the tears from parting are how you know my heart is ready.
Jun 252013


         She found herself standing in a dark room alone, silence except for the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning from a large window. She fumbled for the tornado radio on a table, next to the front door, hitting her knee in her effort and dropping something before feeling the radio, and turned it on. The radio crackled out a thunderstorm warning for the following counties, hers being one of them.


            She breathed a sigh of relief. Just recently, a neighboring county had been hit by a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction. She was glad that it wasn’t a tornado warning. And she cursed that she became so consumed in her work that it was now dark, and for all she knew, she was alone in the building. 

            She wondered where a flashlight could be located, and reached into her purse, removing her phone. Turning it on, she used the feeble light to move in between the cubicles towards a large window, stumbling slightly from time to time. Through the window, the rain slashed and splattered down, and the lightning exposed the tips of the trees swaying violently, the moon completely hidden above the storm.
            Not just the darkness confused her, but she still felt as though she were in that book that she was translating. The book she simply struggled to render appropriately, as the words mesmerized her with their dark erotic fantasies. She had always felt superior translating, this book left her humble and hoping she eloquently did it justice; it provoked a physical reaction that still left her wanting.  
            Halfway to the large window, a flashlight’s beam shone directly in her eyes, blinding her. She stopped abruptly, squinting. A man’s voice stated with some surprise, “Ah, Jen, I had thought you had left with everyone else.” His accent thick, making him distinguishable even blind, Jen was glad she wasn’t alone in this frightening storm. He lowered the flashlight, but she still couldn’t see anything. Too bad, she thought, he was gorgeous to look at. Recently joining her department, she and other women would cast stolen glances at him when he was near.
            “I lost track of time, I guess.” She shrugged. Spots of lights still flashed before her eyes, but she could see his form silhouetted in front of the window. She noticed that the beam of light was pointed downwards, at a spot between them in the carpet. The light moved forward, towards her, and she looked up to see him closing the distance between them. She smelled his cologne when he was close enough to grasp her upper arm, and she felt like leaning into his smell, becoming enveloped in his scent that it became her own.
            “Are you alright?” the lightning exposed his smile, he was so close that his words were felt on her forehead. She shook her head a little, blaming her current thoughts and predicament on the book she was working on. Of course, there could be worse things than being stuck in a storm with a hot man. He mistook her shake, and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his hard chest through his suit. “It’s okay, the storm will pass over us soon,” he murmured, rubbing her upper back. She found herself putting her arms around him, holding him tightly. His heat seemed to cocoon her, and she felt so hot all the sudden she was afraid of perspiring. At least she could blame it on the storm, and his assumption that she was terrified.
            “I’m okay,” her voice came out muffled from his suit jacket; she felt oddly calm at the soothing strokes of his hand on her back, the other arm still holding her tightly to him. The hand moved a little lower, to her lower back, and the circles would sometimes reach the top of her ass. She was sure that wasn’t intentional, and decided to not protest it.
            Still holding her but allowing more room between them, he looked down at her face. “So lovely, Jen, even in shadows and darkness.” She was surprised at the words, but more surprised when his face could be vaguely seen lowering, lips came down to meet hers, his hand now firmly on her ass, pushing her towards him again. She found herself kissing him back, his tongue melding with her own, the taste of him unique. “So hot,” he leaned back and murmured, and she briefly felt his hardness against her through the layers of clothes. The hand caressing her butt gripped tighter, the arm supporting her shoulders was suddenly used to turn her around so fast that she was shocked, letting out a little cry, tripping over her own feet and grabbing in the dark a nearby desk. The arm snaked over her shoulder, pulling her up and against him, the other hand lifted up her heavy mass of hair, and she heard him whisper something in his native language, so soft she wasn’t sure what it was, as his mouth came down upon her neck.  She felt goose bumps along her skin, and her body tremored slightly.
She hazily wondered what she was doing, alone in a storm with a near stranger that apparently didn’t ask for permission to approach her sexually. She debated briefly if she would tell him to stop, or do something, but his other hand slowly started unbuttoning her blouse, the palm grazing the newly exposed skin as he unhurriedly went down the row. His mouth moved to the side, the hand still gently lifting the hair up to give him full access. She moaned, and decided that she would see where this would take her. She could always tell him to stop later.
Fingers deftly made their way into her bra, fingertips caressing nipple tip to a hardened point before tugging slightly. He lips and tongue so warm sliding along her jawline, she turned her head to be able to kiss him. He dropped her hair as his mouth seared against hers, his tongue probing and asking of her own passion. Suddenly, he pinched her nipple hard at the same time as he trapped all her hair in his grasp and pulled her head back, away from the kiss. “I wonder if you are ready, lovely,” he questioned to her ear, still holding her head back as the fingers moved from nipple down, pulling up her skirt so quickly and moving aside her panties that she didn’t even think to protest.
She almost felt panicked at his aggression, unused to it, unsure of him, but a finger stroked against her clit, sliding easily along her slickened lips to penetrate her sex. She gasped, and he inserted two fingers. His mouth again moved to the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, as his fingers moved quickly in and out of her. “So ready for me,” he said.
Yes, she thought, you and the book of words have me mesmerized in fantasy. She felt herself soaking his fingers, tightening around them, and began panting. He withdrew them right before she could clench around them in orgasm. He grabbed her hip, the hand in her hair now between her shoulder blades pushing, bending her. Her hands out, they felt the impact of the steady desk, and she laughed, curious if he even cared if she had smashed into it face first. Her skirt was hiked up above her hips, her underwear yanked down, and his mouth moved upon her clit. He pushed her legs further apart, and in her frustration to have him down there, she untangled her high heel from one side of the undergarment, leaving it like an anklet around the other. The tongue darted against her nub, once, twice; sighing, she felt him sucking on it.  She shifted slightly, bending more fully over the desk, pushing papers out of her way. The thundered boomed, the lightning flashed, and she prayed the electricity stayed off and not waken her to reality.
His mouth moved back, his tongue fucked her, his lips pulling at her lips. She moaned and pushed against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, before he moved, the fingers seeking where his mouth had been, his mouth moving up to licking her anus. The fingers sunk in deeply, curling, fucking her to an orgasm that she screamed more voraciously than the violent storm outside.
“Ready for me?” he panted, moving up to stand behind.
It took her a hazy moment to realize he had actually asked her a question. She heard his clothing shifting. “Oh yes,” she stammered, backing up slightly, bumping into his shadowy form. He chuckled, grabbed her hip with one hand, guided himself to her with the other, before both hands were on the sides of her hips, and he was moving them back and forth, pulling her upon him as he pushed, and roughly taking her to another orgasm, slowly the tempo slightly. She became briefly aware of the rain still pounding down to the earth, very aware of him still filling her deeply, and then thrusting fast again, competing with the speed of the rain, until they both shuddered and groaned.
He stepped back, smoothed down her skirt. He began reassembling his clothes before she even moved to stand up again, feeling wobbly, using the desk for support. She decided to lean against it, and turned, still just seeing him vaguely. She struggled to pull up her panties in the same amount of time that he dressed.
A dream lover, she mused. “My tempest,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his accent thicker from their passion. The thundered rolled, but it seemed so far away to her, a relaxing soothing background sound. “You were lovely,” he leaned down and picked up the flashlight, shining it again at the floor.
“What now?” she breathlessly asked. He put an arm around her shoulder, and steered her towards the front door.  
“Shall we get you to your car?” He handed her the purse she had dropped, grabbed an umbrella in the doorway, and continued to move her into the rain. As they stepped outside, the umbrella snapped open, lightning flashed, and the lights behind them were suddenly on again. They laughed as they walked away; she was grateful it was still dark outside. She wanted him to continue being a mysterious dream lover. Tomorrow back at work would be soon enough for her to cast furtive glances of longing or askance at him, translating his mood more than her current book project, amid the papers, chatter, clicking of keyboards, and clear vision.

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 Posted by at 4:11 pm
Jun 242013

Sex Talk & Sex Ed

June is Adult Sex Ed Month (twitter: #AdultSexEdMonth). The movement was started by blogger @GoodDirtyWoman on twitter. Please read more here: http://agoodwomansdirtymind.com/june-is-adultsexedmonth/
This week’s TMI Tuesday questions were inspired by Sex-Ed writer Jon Pressick and his #dailysexdiscussion that happens on twitter.
1. Have you ever investigated having an open relationship?
– Have you tried to have an open relationship?
I’ve not investigated having an open relationship, but I have been in several. They have worked wonderfully well for me.

2. Do you have any sexual phobias?
– What have you done to manage or overcome them?
I did not until a few years when I squirted for the first time, and he sniffed it, thinking I pissed the bed. That gave me a fear that I did, or would. And a resentment towards this man. I don’t like squirting for that reason, but my lover can make me do it effortlessly regardless. It would be helpful if I knew if he even liked this aspect, as I have to assume he does considering he makes me do it quite frequently. However, even though I’ve asked, he’s been vague. I don’t like squirting: I don’t see it as sexy, it does give me my first and only sexual concern, and it’s very messy wet. I have done nothing to overcome this issue, besides issuing a no-sniffing rule.

3. What is the best new sexual activity you have tried in 2013?
Spanking, or wax. I like them both, but I’m trying to figure out to what varying degrees. I don’t always like them, so it’s still a learning curve for me.

4. Have you ever called into a sex advice radio/television show or written to a sex advice columnist?
– Was it helpful?
No, I haven’t, so I’ve no idea if it’s helpful.

5. Would you use the services of a sex therapist? Why or why not?
Yes, I have seen a sex addiction therapist, who informed me that I am a nympho, not an addict. I was told that I was an addict by another therapist, but the specialist laughed at that. I will not sleep with anyone, I don’t endanger my job or family or finances for it, and I am selective with who I sleep with. Just because I always think about sex and enjoy it does not mean that I have to have it, despite the cost. It was comforting, especially considering the first therapist made me feel ashamed of my thoughts.

6. Should sex therapists be allowed to engage in actual sexual activities with clients? Why or why not?
I have no idea, and I would not want to cast an overall judgment on an individualized case.

I highly recommend watching the movie “The Sessions” based on a true story of how a sex therapist helped a disabled man live a full, rich life that included sex. Movie trailer: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1866249/

Bonus:  Have you read any adult sex ed books lately? What do you recommend?
I have not on sex ed., unless we’re counting Mating in Captivity by Perel. I am drafting several reviews and my own reflections on that book which deals with erotic intelligence and keeping desire in long term relationships.  
I am currently reading Story of O, which was considered a break through piece of literature on BDSM in the 1950s. It is not on education. I’m a third of the way into it, and should have it finished in a day, considering I started it late last night. Thus far, it is not as psychologically delving as I would hope. For a true mind darkening exploration experience on BDSM, I’d recommend (Anne Rice wrote it under a pseudonym) The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty series.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

 Posted by at 6:05 pm
Jun 192013

Finally! I was in charge and planned on reveling in the fact that it was my turn to dish out the punishment. There was so much to do, I didn’t know where to start.

My lover was teacher despite relinquishing control, and he showed me many ways to torture and tease him. He taught me how to tie him, to use my nails and my teeth to hurt him, and them he handed me the remote.

We had an electric stimulation cock set, and I had the juice. There were two parts to the unit, the shock could be sent through the cock cage, or used in the handheld part to deliver a delicious shock of electricity all over the body.

I started out light and teasing. If you turn the controls away, he has no way of seeing if the power was flowing to his gorgeously erect dick, or his sensitive inner thigh where I held the other part.

I giggled, I coo’d, I taunted. I loved having him at my mercy, although I missed having him in my mouth. He sassed back at me so I turned up the intensity and sent a thrill of sensation to his cock for being a bad boy. I was in my element.

The heat in his eyes matched the wet heat growing within me and the heady sensation of power merely spurned me on. I knew he was enjoy it. My VERY dominate lover also enjoyed cock and ball torture and I was endeavoring to give him his moneys worth.
I loved how we played. First the wise teacher, now the sensual victim of my sadistic pleasure. I increased my taunts, the frequency of the sting, bringing him higher. Although this was my first time with the device I was doing a pretty good job. That’s when my finger slipped on accident and I didn’t realize it. A playful smile turned up my lips as I prepared to give him a bit more than I had before. “tsk tsk, lover, remember, WHO is in control right now?” I flipped the switch and power went rushing through the lines straight down to that precious instrument I loved so much and planned on having inside of me within a moment’s time. The breath stole from his lungs as his entire body tightened in convulsion. Unbeknownst to me the power was accidentally as high as it could go and I sent all of that power straight into the most sensitive part of my lover. I was so startled I fumbled with the controls and he was only tortured longer. My poor Wretch. While he enjoyed the exquisite pain he could experience through rough play, he wasn’t quite prepared for what I had dished out. Suffice to say I paid the price that night as well. Kink of the WeekAfter what I had done there wasn’t much hope of further play, so I wasn’t surprised, although definitely sad, that the night would end with cuddles and concession instead. I was however, surprised when I got the text from him the next day. It turns out the shock was so intense that the points of contact on the cock cage had left perfectly shaped bruises in the delicate skin on his penis… For once, our play left little love bruises on him instead of me… I’ve been promised sweet retribution, and while he has used the shock kit on me, it wasn’t in vengeance… Although the threat of obtaining a tens unit if I’m a bad girl still hangs over my head… Looks like I have to make sure I’m just good enough to avoid that fate, for now.

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Jun 182013

Thoughts overtake me. Walking, attempting to sleep, sitting down, in the company of others when it’s not appropriate the thoughts rush my body. Wicked imaginings: I envision you. Heat, moans, a quickening of the breath, water pouring down us both. Guilty pleasures flash through my head, bad but oh so good. Whispers of limits, shattered lines, softly uttered curses, religious prayers, and begging of need. Feeling, taste, sight, overwhelming my body, forcing my breaths heavy, devastating my senses. Becoming an obsession, addiction, a drug I need inside my body. Oh the things I need to do to you:  I yearn to have my lips, my tongue, and my hands all over your body, my body gliding along yours. Memories flashing, burning through my head, coursing down my body.  A tightening of where I crave you most. Stop, but to no avail; I bite my lip.  So amazing, overpowering, consuming, fulfilling. Each thought of you my body begs for your touch, careless that it can’t partake. Tender from bittersweet pleasures, a physical reminder of what was. Erotic. Pulsating. Throbbing, hot, wet. Oh God, just once more, one chance encounter, one moment, but it won’t be enough, just a slight cooling and releasing until the next buildup. I’ve had a taste, I desire more. A memory to savor, torture on cold nights. I can already hear my moans for more, sense my body arching towards yours. Anticipation. Waiting. Aching for the moment. I think of you and my blood pounds, excitement mounting. I can feel your deep breathing next to my ear; eyes conveying longing, your desire pressing hard and ready against my skin. Your lips gently pulling on mine. Our bodies entwined, unable to deny urges. Can’t get enough; you’ve taken over my thoughts, my body now powerless to our yearnings. We shouldn’t, so good, stop, please I need you. I can’t alleviate it, I won’t resist, no longer want to. Make me feel the things I crave. I can almost savor you in my mouth, your hands gently in my hair, compelling me on. Smell you on my skin, a stimulating, impetuous scent. Feel you in my body, overwhelming, pushing, engulfing. When I was mindless with heady passion, not yet you said softly then, the words no truer than now. But like then, it’s only a matter of time. Bad thoughts…guilty pleasures.

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Sex Blog Directory
 Posted by at 6:47 pm
Jun 172013

How do you like ____ ?

How do you like . . .
1. Your eggs cooked?
How-do-you-like-your-eggs-in-the-morning-honOver Easy, but I often have them scrambled because that’s how my family like them and I’m too lazy
2. Your sandwich cut? In half, down the middle of the square or on the diagonal?
On nice bread down the middle, on regular sandwich bread on the diagonal
3. Your coffee?
Sweet, two generous spoonfuls of sugar, and a hint of milk or creamer
4. Your tea?
Vanilla Chai latte is my absolute favorite, but I make so many fruit teas to drink cold during the day as well (about 3 quarts a week)
5. Your ice-cream served–cup, cone or condom? Yup you read that right, a condom. Read more here
Condom? So strange. Cup, if I’m indulging in actual ice cream (I prefer frozen yogurt), I’ll get the cup
6. Your hair–long or short? Up or down? Straight or curly? Permed or natural?
I really want it long, but seeing as how it’s naturally very curly, it doesn’t like growing long and staying healthy. I can get it past my shoulders, and not much further. And it is 90% of the time in a ponytail. My other sister is genius with the hair – she must’ve taken all the talent.
7. To have sex? In what position?
A favorite of mine for months now is on my side, with one leg between his, and the other wrapped around his side. His leg will frequently brush again my clit as he’s thrusting in and out, and it positions him so deeply.
Bonus: How do you like your lovers?
Dark hair, adventurous spirit.
How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

 Posted by at 11:59 pm