Jun 292014

It’s been a strange experience recently – being ostracized for being “little”. I thought perhaps I was dramatizing my feelings, but even my husband commented that it’s odd – and common here.

Within the kink community:

For suspension I have heard: I am not enough of a challenge; I am too easy of a suspension being so thin. Or with the excess rope they need to wind more around for support because smaller people get hurt more easily, a complaint of smaller people being fragile (not the case for me with support, though of course it is more comfortable – I simply don’t require or need it).

For flogging: “such a small target,” “not a big enough canvas,” “I’d like to see you hit her blindfolded,” “I like bigger women, a bigger target,” all comments I have heard while being flogged.

I am not approaching people asking them to play with me. These are unsolicited things that have been said to me or about me (loud and definitely meant for me to be heard). Imagine (and sadly most of us have heard) the reverse: she’s too fat, too big, etc.. It’s hurtful, and most of us would hesitate to even voice something that mean. And yet, so many people feel no qualms about voicing a distaste for smaller people – as if it’s a compliment, or somehow disgusting. It is not!

It’s just who they are.

Furthermore, this has a certain disconnect with me when I hear it about myself. I feel immediately defensive. I don’t view myself as little. For one, my whole family is on the short range so I feel average among them. My husband teases that I feel like I am a seven foot person and that’s why I am as brave as I am. With this in mind, I feel strong. I lift weights, do yoga, hike, am more often alone without someone else to depend on, independent and resourceful – I don’t feel fragile. For another, I don’t feel thin. I have curves, and a love of eating that just doesn’t allow my softness or baby belly to do anything but be prominent – to call me thin makes me feel self conscious.

People of all the various sizes can take more pain, more thrill, more of anything, differently. My size should not be a judgment of weakness. Another’s should not be judged as strength – they can hurt easily, be fragile, need to be held and sheltered and protected more. We are all such individuals with unique needs and thresholds.

Body shaming goes both ways.

I am quite happy to say that I met a group last night who seems to be more supportive of all body types, and while of course commenting on size did still happen (which it shouldn’t), it doesn’t have the implied judgments that I have heard.

In a community that prides itself of safe and judgment free, that should be all bodies.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 Posted by at 1:21 pm
Jun 272014

Key Words:  Parting, Station 

Word Limit:  200 
Forbidden Words:   Discreet, Forbidden, Tryst
Extra Credit:  Name the train and the destination

Parting was painful at the station. Very painful.

Then again, she expected no different. After hours in the train mingling and socializing, she felt the pinch from her heels and just wanted to take them off. But he had a thing for heels. Couldn’t take his eyes off them as she sashayed her way through the quiet aisle.

She sat down across from him, made sure to flash just a little as she crossed her legs. He was pretending to read the newspaper; she wasn’t amused. She kicked his foot. He looked up disdainfully, she couldn’t help but smile, and then set down his paper unhurriedly.

“Can I help you?” he questioned.

She leaned forward a little, pushedthe advantage by showing cleavage, and looked directly at him. “Yes. I obtain the fifteen phone numbers, took me forever. Not to mention all the men who leered – a few women too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, everyone is just anxious to be with you; however,” his voice dipped a little lower as he also leaned forward, “I am only one who gets to fuck you.”

She felt her cunt clench, the clips he placed on her lips, at boarding before walking away with an order, tugged painfully amidst her moisture and need.


**Feeling slightly rebellious and bratty, I added the two key words in the first sentence and got it over with. I perhaps need to be punished with all the feeling of satisfaction of easy that was. And I went ten words over.

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 Posted by at 7:44 am
Jun 262014

houndstooth4 on flickr

The smell of the earth and the straining green grass cushion the soft blanket. My back sinks into it, sighing in the fresh breeze, a smile upon my lips. The sun dazzles, sparkles, teases between the leaves overhead; lattice work that blinds one moment and shields the next from my bright, excited eyes.

And then he swallows the light as his loving face lowers close to my own; the fragrant mix of picnic fruits washes over my skin before claiming my mouth, sweetness dances and strokes my tongue. Like a fairy tale, melodious birds sing their melodies as I fall in love.

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 9:30 am
Jun 252014

Cuddled, held tightly, soft kisses are our epilogue.

“What was your favorite part?” he asked.

“Having all the control taken away from me. I realize I take awhile to understand, but the minute I know I can do nothing, I stop thinking, and only feel.” His hand around my throat is an instant cue, my body immediately stills, my mind blanks-still half in panic, the other half realizing what is about to occur and welcoming. He ordered me to keep my hands above my head, that if I was to touch him I was also to touch myself, before he explored me with his tongue and fingers for so long. Of course I struggled to obey, and touched, then had to touch myself. I am bad at remembering, and I test the limits as this is still new roles to us both. The hardest challenge was when he placed his penis on my still hands and warned me to not move, but I couldn’t help but caress and curl my fingers around him, feeling his hard desire. I was tied for that rebellion; ankles and wrist behind my back, thrown over to where it felt like my body weight would numb my limbs, my head almost off the side of the bed.

“What was your favorite part?” I asked.

“Head.” When he said that, I know he was talking about fellatio, but my mind went back to how gorgeous the swollen head of his penis looked slick with my saliva, reflecting the soft light by our bedside. “You did such a good job, and seeing the line of slaver coming from your lips to my cock was so hot.” He had gripped my hair, pulled my head back and off the bed to where he stood, and guided my opened, waiting mouth to his engorged member, slowing easing it in until he hit the back of my throat ever so softly. I opened as wide as I could, my tongue teasing the shaft as it slid, and when he penetrated my mouth so deeply, I reminded myself to breathe. He would pull out  and let me take gasps of air in between, occasionally pinch a nipple, and then back to so slowly sliding himself into my mouth. Perhaps it was the angle, but he went so deeply, but so gently. When he would pause just before I felt the urge to gag, I closed my lips, caressed my tongue along his length, exhaled, tried to relax, existed for only him. He would murmur his appreciation, approval, pride in my ability as he receded out. Each time he pushed my limits, each time I strove to be better. And when he finally leaned over and his fingers stroked between my lips, I was so wet, so thoroughly ready, to receive him into my body.

 Posted by at 4:33 am
Jun 232014

As I sat next to her, I thought how she still looked smoking hot. The last time I saw her we were in college together, dated a few months. She was my experimental stage, I would later say. A fireball, with red hair to match. A quick temper, impulsive nature, tiger in bed, daring and adventurous. She made me feel alive when the pedantic drivel became too much.

“Veronica, how nice to see you,” I exclaimed. She put down her glass (champagne?) and her blue eyes turned to me. I always felt so plain next to her. Mousy, brown hair and eyes, far too short and thick. I always thought the boys flirted with me to get to her. She used to tell me how sexy I was, curvy; how my breasts drew her gaze and curved into a waist and back out to hips. She wanted to hold onto my hips and muffle her mouth against my intimate curls, lick and stroke with her tongue. All this went through her head before she looked up at my face, she used to say.

“Charlotte,” she greeted in remembrance. I was half afraid she wouldn’t remember me. She looked up as the last passenger boarded and a flight attendant shut the door. “Get my friend Charlotte some champagne, love. Thank you.” She flashed the woman a smile.

“A friend of yours?”


And with that opening we discussed our jobs, catching up from the crazy days of college. She ordered glass after glass and I supposed working for the airline got her certain perks; as for myself, I could only drink two before feeling a sense of motion sickness.

She ordered a blanket and tucked it over our laps. “Nice and cozy. Married?”

I wanted to deny, for some crazy reason, the relationship that I had formed and committed to. I wanted us both to be single and fly away to some distant, exotic land and feast on each other with the sweetest of fruits and wines. I stared at her lips, shook my head a little, and responded, “no, not yet. About to be. Flying to meet up with my friends for a bachelorette party.”

“Those are amazing,” she said, smiling. Her hand reached down between us and took my hand. I was afraid I would start sweating and she would be able to feel it soon. “Never want to marry, what a shitty ass, impractical concept of monogamy for life. But I sure do appreciate the parties.”

“So you’re not married,” we were looking into each other eyes, her perfumed breath smelled so damn good, I resisted the urge to kiss her, “in a relationship then? Several?”

She laughed, and her hand let go of mine. She leaned a little closer to me, nothing that didn’t appear as old friends chatting. I caught myself at the thought and cringed to think that I still cared how things looked. “Not a one, not right now. Or at least,” I felt her hand on my thigh beneath the blanket, but above my skirt, “none that are serious.”

I gulped. “Veron-”

She placed a delicate, long finger on my lips, her nails well manicured and matching her lipstick. “Shh, you’re going to let your over-thinking take over, instead of just,” her voice a whisper, hand under the blanket slid to the inside of my knee and slowly glided up, the skirt material offered no resistance. “relaxing and enjoying yourself. And you know you always enjoyed yourself.”

Oh did I ever! No man had ever made me orgasm as many times as this woman. The skill she possessed was awe-inspiring and slightly unnerving. “Oh,” I panted, as a finger curled and traced the outline of one my lips through my lace underwear. “O-okay,” I muttered. Yes, yes, yes, my mind cried. The finger continued to explore the outside of lace and pulled back. I leaned back a little, as much as the first class seat would allow-which was a fair amount more than I was used to at least. Her fingers pulled the lace to the side, a single finger followed up and down the plump lip, her gaze steady on my own. I looked away, around, to see if anyone was watching. The people across from us were asleep, the other people I could see had in headsets and were watching the movie. No one was paying us any attention. Her finger traced the crevice, gossamer of touches, such a tease. I arched my hips a little, to give her more access or to press more firmly against her finger, I wasn’t sure what.

She chuckled and I again found myself lost in her vibrant eyes. “You always were impatient,” she purred, and the finger continued to stroke up and down, not parting the lips, just the tip feeling the obvious moisture and spreading it up and down. “Ask me.”

“Please,” I whispered, my barely-there voice shaky, “please please me.”

Her finger dipped down into the moist center and withdrew, brushed up to my clit, circled lazily. I reminded myself to not arch up any further, I didn’t want anything being obvious. “I never could say no to you,” she said softly. Her finger moved back and dipped, up and looped, the circle becoming firmer and more focused on my hardened button. I caught my breath; I tried to not let any noise happen. A strand of curly red hair floated in front of her shoulder when she broke my gaze and looked towards my lap. “So wet,” her finger got more insistent, more rhythmical. She inserted two fingers and curled, the angle couldn’t have been easy for her, but she rubbed such a glorious place before transitioning back to my clit, strummed. I tried not to writhe; I tried to be silent; I shut my eyes and focused on her fingers playing me like an instrument, the chair so unforgiving in not allowing her full access, the blanket almost a barrier that kept her arm down, rather than the up that I wanted if she could plummet her fingers and bend and rock them in and out, hitting my clit all the while….

I came, a sharp intake of breath and a sigh.

Her fingers slowed dawdled, spread my damp stickiness on my lips and inner thighs before she moved away. I opened my eyes – and didn’t look at her at first, but glanced around. Her friend/coworker looked at me, stood in front by the cart, and smiled and winked. I felt myself blush.

“Oh Charlotte, some things just don’t change,” Veronica stated, sounded disappointed.

My face became more red than her hair.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 Posted by at 8:00 am
Jun 222014

I used to take my desires and compartmentalize: I need to wait for him to initiate, I need to wait till the kids go to sleep, I need to request a bondage session as it’s been months, I need to stop thinking kinkier thoughts.

Yep, that was it – squash down the kink. I felt like a prisoner of my own fantasies; I’d stand behind a fence and read/watch other people having this incredibly steamy, hot sex that I wasn’t allowing myself to be part of.

And then my husband came for a conjugal visit one time, and my love and trust took a chance and climbed the fenced, exposing me with my voice. When he listened, respectively, without judgment, then my fantasies jumped on the other side and what I had only viewed became a reality. It’s not all great – some things sound or look better than they really are, but it sure is exciting knowing that I can roam free safely on the other side with someone beside me.

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 8:45 am
Jun 192014


FFF for 6/20 – Where are you?

Key Words:  Late, Eager, 
Word Limit:  250 (there’s not much time)
Forbidden Words:   Anticipation, Wet, Hurry!

She was determined to seduce him. She had spent so much money and time on him and her body was showing the evidence: fine tuned, eager, alive.

She heard a truck pull up and opened up the window, looked out topless, in nothing but panties. Maybe she would see the top of his head, maybe she’d see it when he went down on her, dark wavy hair almost hiding dark eyes as his pink tongue dipped into crevices between her legs. She would grab onto his hair, guide him deeper.

Maybe he would look up and see her breasts, small but upright, firm, ready. He may grow hard at the image he would think he accidentally saw.

It wasn’t his truck; he wasn’t late yet. She moved back inside, rubbed the bottom of her skull, cautiously. Her hair seemed a perfect ponytail, ready for sweat and limit pushed work, but she had crafted it over hours so when she pulled the band off, it would come tumbling down, curls towards the bottom, height given at top. She would brush it towards the side, a self-assured smile, wink, feel the silky weight brush her skin as she approached him seductively, brush her lips against his plump ones.

Oh she was confident; he had made sure of that over so many lessons. A bodybuilder and trainer, it was lust at first sight when he first began privately training her once flabby body into the toned one it was now. Hers.

**It’s been awhile since I’ve contributed. Traveling, moving, new opportunities, so busy. I saw the image and couldn’t pass it up. She looks amazing; I admire a body that looks fit. My husband is actually able to start working out again. And I have just started weight training again after so many months, so of course, that was my theme.

Word count is 248. Want to see others’ take on this? Click the link at the title.

 Posted by at 8:30 pm
Jun 182014

It is unfortunate that I have experienced the burnout of a sub drop for quite awhile before realizing that I needed aftercare. Not too many people write about it after the experiences of the high.

Not to mention that I’ve experienced this with intense multiple orgasms that have nothing to do with “submissive play”. I’m not sure that (a) many people are aware of that it feels the same, or (b) that many women can multiple to that extent. I only know that I have experienced it, and the burnout is horrific from this – more because it’s more subtle that I need care when I haven’t been treated roughly or gone through any mind fucks.

What I’ve read has helped to such a great extent. I’ve read that I’m not alone in:

the depression and lethargy,

that it sucks – and that’s putting it mildly,

that I may feel incredibly alone,

ready to separate from my lover,

withdrawal in general,

feel abandoned,

feel angry,

honestly feel like the world isn’t worth it and not being dramatic,

that it may occur immediately afterwards or even a couple of days.

…………………………………This type of information is so comforting.

Another helpful contribution in reading is the actual aftercare that some use. It is individualized, especially depending on what an individual needs/likes, but I’ve gotten some really great ideas. Like:

a straw in a water cup for ease of drinking while exhausted or tied up,

chocolate or sugared candy (just a tiny piece) for sugar drops,

words of assurance (you were great, beautiful, etc.) (I love you, so glad I’m with you, etc.),

tightly being held,

warm blankets,

soft lighting,

the person waiting to clean/tidy up until after my need for being held is met,

soft caresses (not for stimulation, but relaxation),

absolutely no serious conversation afterwards -not thinking right and it takes them out of the “happy/high” feeling.

Now, I’ve had to find these ideas on my own (instead of my lover) and suggest them; but I suppose that it hardly matters as long as my needs are being met by a man who has never done this either. I just recently read of another blogger suggesting things like their favorite movie (though I can’t imagine this being directly after), waiting for a bit and then stimulating them just a little (like kisses and an anal plug) for a taper down effect, a bath with their favorite salts/bubbles.

It has been a challenging journey, trying to find limits, reaching states (only read about) for the first time, trying to figure out what the heck to do with ourselves afterwards. I’m loving the journey, I’m frustrated with it at times, but most importantly: I’m learning.


 Posted by at 10:29 am