Nov 172014

There are a few things that shaped my concept of sexuality, that allowed me to embrace it or be ashamed of it. The first two really don’t need much reflection (to me anyhow).

First and foremost was Catholic School.

Secondly, was being sexually abused as a child.

Thirdly, was being my mother’s daughter. She was open about sex, told us girls that boys are like shoes: you need to try on a lot of pairs until you find the perfect fit. Giving us an hilarious tale of her first blow job story, where she really blew on the man’s penis. Not judging us for our sexual explorations, and allowing us to be open and honest with her. I told her the first time I had sex, and she dutifully took me to the doctor and made sure that everything was fine (it wasn’t, I had torn horribly and needed to be cut in places to take away the jagged edges). She didn’t lecture me, she cared for me, and taught me to be safe.

Later, society and the trickle down effect in high school impacted. Talk of how much of a slut I was, the mean gossip, the truths and the exaggerations of my exploits. It was the boys feeling a sense of entitlement, because they viewed me as easy, and therefore I must say yes to them. It was the bad girls who embraced me and the good girls who rejected me. The slut shaming during these developing years lasted until my thirties.

It was my in-laws; how their view that sex was only to get pregnant, that if I wanted it more that I was a slut, unfaithful, unworthy. These people that became my family, that I loved, shaped me just as much as high school peers ever could. That I should have no friends of the opposite gender, that it was not proper. On the rare occasions where my drive was brought into conversations, mostly from conversations overheard at family get-togethers with my sisters, it was frowned upon. I was a deviant, and always viewed suspicious. How could I be a good wife and mother if I was so obviously a slut?!

A beautiful moment was my daughter feeling safe enough to confide in me when she first became sexually active, the strength to decide when she was ready, and the respect she had for herself in making that decision. I wish I had been half as courageous and confident in myself, in my youth.

It was my husband, who accepted my flirtatious manner, my curiosity, who taught me that while his drive is nowhere near my own, my drive is valid, authentic. He respects me as an individual, accepts and delves into the darker sides with me, makes me feel free to pursue and explore. He unweaves what school and in-laws have done. He lets me sort out of the pieces safely.

It is the blogging community; it is feeling that I am not alone, that I am not the only one who likes, does, feels, what I do. It is becoming educated on kinks, desires,  and positive sexuality. It is unraveling what society has taught us, and reconditioning to a more broader perspective.

The biggest influence to accepting who I am is me. I have finally come to a place where I can sort the pieces of me without judgment or conformity, where I can (painfully at times) honestly look at me and love me for who I am. Where I can accept the bumps in the journey, the criticism from others and myself, and embrace me anyhow. I am not defined by my sexuality, but I do accept how it has shaped other pieces of my identity.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 9:53 am
Nov 162014

Cheeky minx
Photo courtesy of Cheeky Minx

Welcome to Elust #64

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 #65? Start with the rules, come back December1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

On a special note I want to mention that the judges voting on Elust is often very close, this month more than most. You all do such fine work that it is very hard for us to come up with the final results.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Ownership: On Sexuality & Feminine Relations

Tool Time

Seven – A Fairytale of Sorts

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The Love Letter of O
To My Single Submissive Friends – Be Brave

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
What S/He Said: Pressing Stop

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!


Writing about Writing

How We Talk About Play

Erotic Fiction

The Warehouse
Taking Chance
The Little Mermaid
Trick or Treat
Bad Sex Turns Good
Shall We Dance?
Let’s Play a Game (Spuffy Erotica)

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

A MakeLoveNotPorn Reality Check
Pondering Dildos as Art
Where does bdsm come from? Other species/
A Females Perspective on Extreme Feminists

Erotic Non-Fiction

Fucking on Facebook
A lot of Patience
Hands Away
Tall Dark and Handsome Pleasant Surprise
Torture His Balls. Tease His Cock.
Caning Sometime?
I Took my Pony Slave Shopping
Private Dancer
Earning Pleasure The Hard Way
At the Movies

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Finding Shelter in the Shadows.
My First Scarification
Q: “What’s stopping me from reporting owner?”
Squirting…Fact Not Fiction-Part 3

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Shiny Lesbian Syndrome
Losing it, asking for it
How I Handle Being A Parent & Sex Positive
Sex as the most intimate performance
The crowded mirror
Sex Hangover


Penisaurus – a Lusty Limerick


Sex toys are NOT required for fantastic sex
My paint brush is empty.


ELust Site Badge

Nov 132014

Key Words: Flip flops, tattoo

Forbidden Words: gun, weapon

Word Limit: 400 words

Extra Credit: who did you last salute?


It was almost the year’s end. And it was almost our end.

Before that, we had been amazing. Laughter, kissing, cuddles, wrestling. I did not cry when it was time to say goodbye, he didn’t like that and wanted to remember my smile, unless you count crying out in pleasure the entire night before.

We had been fervid in our quest for each other’s bodies. My mouth and my hands competed for covering the most amount of his skin; likewise, I was soon thrown effortlessly off of him, and his mouth and hands claimed possession of me. Our kisses took our breath away, our hands almost clumsy and rough in touching and stroking, legs were even tangled and pulled into each other.

When it was time to pack up and leave, both of our legs were wobbly, and we both liked to think that was from the shared passion that went ridiculously too long. I joked to drink a lot of water and rehydrate, he laughed and tucked my head into his chest, and I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent.

It was a week before the sheets no longer smelled like him, a month before his shirt lost the trace that made me clench in desire.

The communication was sporadic. My vibrator broke after three months.

He got a tattoo in his first place…and a bath from a whore house.

“Just a bath, just for the experience. I’m being good.”

I think I was more upset about the tattoo, a piece that took up his entire back and wasn’t completed, and he couldn’t remember where he got it done.

Less communication. A new place.

Another whore house when it was almost time to come home, only this time he wanted to experience what it was like to buy a whore. “She told me no,” he complained, “after seeing me naked.” I had to laugh on the phone and joke about his massive size, but secretly I wondered who the hell he thought he was talking to. I was his lover, waiting for him, not buying a whore for myself (although let’s be honest: as a female I don’t need to spend money). I bit my tongue, decided to sleep on it.

And decided to confront him when next we talked – if he wanted to buy a whore than I was going to go pursue sexual experiences as well.

He beat me to it – the next communication I received was an email with a picture of some of his buddies, naked except for flip flops.

“I asked the guys which would like to volunteer to be with you. Babe, pick your favorite and I’ll make it happen. I have a lot to make up to you. Oh, and I told them that protection had to be involved. Clearly, you can tell we’ve been deployed too long, they misunderstood what kind of protection I was referring to.”

20141114**** Over by almost one hundred words; I could have easily written double this and gone over some of the internal reactions to hearing about a whore. I can say that I haven’t saluted anyone, unless you count having a perpetual lady boner for my husband.

He’s gone right now, not for long, and he has this horrible habit of annoying me up until the last minute of leaving and then being wonderful. Of course, I choose to remember the last seconds rather than the chaotic mess he made up to that point.

And this story has much truth to it – hard to be involved with a military man and not add pieces when I see this photo.

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 7:44 am
Nov 112014

I’ve noticed this REALLY annoying trend in my boy. Whenever referring to an ex of his she’s a “slut” or a “whore”. Now clearly, no matter the girl or her sexual activity, that’s completely unacceptable, but in this case it just blows my mind.


All of his ex’s, except one, were virgins before he got to them.


So I posed the question: If they were virgins, who got reclassified because now they’ve had more than one partner, WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MAKE YOU?


My next question was: so what do you say about me? (Answer: nothing, I love you)


The follow up: so what are you going to say if we break up? (Answer: nothing)


Then I had to hit it home: you could take all of his partners, and all of their partners, and even those new guy’s partners, put them in a group, and I bet it STILL wouldn’t be as many people as I’ve had.


Basically: I’m queen of the sluts, or at least a lifetime achievement award winning member.


He got really uncomfortable and squirmy. It wasn’t because he was disgusted with me, we’d discussed my history before. It was because I was pointing out flaws in his arcane views on things. He admitted that was just how he was raised. I hate to be a bastard, but I pointed out that not only has he been with multiple women, he’d just had sex with a man to try it out. I asked where that fell of his spectrum of slut. He lite up with a burning blush.


As long as what I’m doing is safe and consensual I don’t think it’s anyone’s business to cast aspersions on my sexuality, and frankly I stand by the motto of “if I’m a slut, then you’re a slut, and let’s all be happy sluts together.” I’m taking the negativity out of that word, at least for me, but I do wish the rest of the world world come with me.

Wicked Wednesday

Nov 092014

Envy is often mistaken for jealousy, however in my opinion they are vastly different, and while seen in a negative way, can sometimes be positive and encouraging for change.

I am envious of military spouses who volunteer and get involved in the happenings on base, who know the ins and outs of navigating the contained towns guarded by gates and guns, who pack and unpack with such precision, speed, and skill. I am envious of those who make friends easily, who can have a conversation with anyone about a wide variety of subjects; or those who still live near ones that they have been friends for years with, with the additional social support of family nearby, who do not have to put themselves out there for help or conversation.

I am not jealous of “tag chasers”, other wives, other women; I do not fear a woman’s sexuality nor see it as a threat in my marriage; I do not fear a woman’s friendliness for flirtatiousness; I am envious of wives who have their husbands when I do not; I am not jealous of wives who do not have husbands near them to steal my own; my relationship with my husband can only be threatened by us two.

You would think those that have it all would be more secure and less threatened, or those that do not fear would find easier acceptance, but this is not always the case; in a time where our loved ones are gone and put in harm’s way, having support instead of judgment is desperately needed.

**The word was envy

Lillie McFerrin Writes
 Posted by at 6:00 am
Nov 062014

Impact play is becoming more of our exploration, and that is upping the ante for pain tolerance. And then when sex enters, his rocket member has soared me to unknown heights – it’s the cheesy fireworks show in my brain of pleasure. After a particularly throbbing, painful ass (literally) session of BDSM, he was holding me in his arms for Aftercare. We were sideways on the bed because that’s all the energy I could muster – to stay exactly as I was anyhow. He had managed to unwind the rope around me while still holding me, but the missing rope left my skin cold. I know we were both sweating, and I thought the room too hot moments before, but I was chilly. “It’s hot in here,” he complained. I muttered, I hope I made an argument that it was freezing. He slid off the bed, away from me, and as he was already reaching for the switch, asked: “can I turn on the fan?”

“Only if you hold me,” I griped at the lack of body heat already. He put on a sheet and turned on the fan, quickly returning to me. I was softly cocooned in the sheet and him. I felt drowsy, happy, giddy. He would say somethings that I found myself giggling to for no apparent reason. With my eyes shut, I felt his heat that much more beside me, and the air movement above me. The air smelled and felt clean. “It reminds me of camping, maybe on the Fourth of July. On a hot desert night with the wind rushing over your body so fast that you can’t help but be chilled.” And it did. It reminded me of home, or perhaps that was his arms holding me so tight and my contentment.


20141107This is a nonfiction piece, that I wrote in collaboration of a bunch of other 200-300 word pieces of short snippets of my life, just waiting to see the light of day. I added one sentence of fiction into this, and put it in italics to be incredibly obvious (yeah, not much for subtlety). I used all three words, but not “throbbing member” together.

It’s a bit of a cheat, but I haven’t felt the inclination to write like I used to, and I have so many drafts waiting to be heard!

As for forbidden words, I just found out what “gloryhole” meant, when a man I had met only once suggested that we stop at a place. I didn’t respond to him, I had a feeling that I would be insulted by someone I had just met who had already hooked up with my sister. I asked my sister, and she explained it. My husband had inquired how did I not know what a gloryhole was, but when you grow up in Catholic School where those terms aren’t used, but school is where most people learn these terms, it’s possible. Yes, I write about sex, and I explore, learn, and read, but some terms just don’t come up until much later in life. So that was my lesson for the week; I am now further along in my terminology. Now, I have to look up what “love truncheon” means.

As far as cheesy goes: I love cheesy lines. I’m a sucker for them! They shamelessly work on me and crack me up every time. So to come up with ONE would be next to impossible.


Key Words: Throbbing member, rocket

Forbidden Words: Love truncheon, gloryhole

Word Limit: 269 words

Bonus Words: An extra 69 if you can write it without giggling.

Extra Credit: What’s the cheesiest line anyone’s ever used on you, in all seriousness, in the bedroom?

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 10:08 am
Nov 052014

We’ve decided with done with pegging. I am honestly relieved. I was only doing it for  him, it was something that he wanted to experiment in, and we’ve been off and on trying it for almost a year.

Can’t say we didn’t give it a chance.

There were parts that were hot, like I was definitely in control.

That was also immensely, contradictory unappealing. I don’t want control, of any kind, and despite most of our attempts at otherwise, innately I am in control.

The control issue with pegging was the biggest turn off for me. Last night, before we decided we were done, he grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth briefly, and I thought it would be a great night. Then he ordered me to fuck him. I tried to look at it as I was not in control, I was being ordered to pleasure  him. I couldn’t see it that way. And with no foreplay for myself, a brief moment of him in control, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to feel sexy about it nor submissive about it.

The reason why I was always willing to do it, and happily, is that his orgasms were hot to witness during the act. I would start off slowly easing the way into him while just as slowly stroking his cock. When he was adjusted, I would speed up and increase the thrusting, he would take off stroking himself. As a rare treat, because I wasn’t being physically pleased, my eyes would be on him the whole time; I would witness every expression or gaze at his expert hand helping to pleasure himself. When he would cum, he would gush – which he only does with this activity.

Downside is the is the only pleasure I get from pegging is watching him be pleased. It is enough for me as I love his pleasure. Even though we bought the dildo that goes into me, with a vibrator that I feel, it does nothing for me to help achieve my own climax.

And I cannot feel anything – it isn’t my body in him. I have no idea when he clenches, how tight he is, etc..  It is this separate entity between us. He says it doesn’t feel the same way when I peg him as it does when he engages in anal stimulation without me, and I can understand why: I have no idea how he’s feeling nor what I am doing in there besides reading his body language and responding with what I think is best.

I am not offended that I am not skilled at this. And if he wanted to continue, I would gladly peg him. Even more practice may eventually make perfect.

But for myself, I am relieved that we have decided (at least for now) to stop. It wasn’t working for us.

And I’m glad we voiced that. He mistakenly thought I loved it, and while I’m glad I could enthusiastically put myself in the activity, I didn’t enjoy it beyond seeing his pleasure-despite my best intentions. I’m glad I put my fear of hearing failure aside and asked him honestly if it was working, especially since he stated that it is so different with just him playing with anal stimulation versus with me pegging him.

 Posted by at 9:02 am
Nov 032014

Following from here, a hunter finds himself in a tall tower with a lovely but naked woman who possesses long hair. Nervous and unsure, he tries to leave.

“Oh, you did not disturb me,” her voice like velvet, thick and even, smoothly moving from one syllable to the next. The hair pulled him closer to her, sliding around his upper arms and weaving against his back to further bind him. She smiled at him, her lips almost to his by now. “I am so lonely, I welcome your company.” He shut his eyes, unsure what was going on, sure this had to be a bad dream – or a good one, he wasn’t quite sure yet. She licked his lips, then pulled his lower lip into her mouth and bit down gently. A good dream, then?

He opened his eyes to see if she was still there. “Come and stay,” she stated, stepping back, the hair unweaving from around his back but winding tighter against his arms. Her breasts became uncovered by the silken strands, and they were small and pert, reminding him of her nose. He better not tell her, women didn’t like that kind of comparison, but they were small and came to a sharp point of nipples.

Suddenly he pulled out his reverie – literally, as the hair propelled him to the side of the room and he tripped backwards over the edge of a bed. The hair tugged him all the way up to the headboard, and briefly released him to wind around the back of the posts before gripping his wrists and stretching them to the corners. He cursed in his surprised, no longer thinking this was a good dream.

“Play with me,” she said, moving towards the bed. He dug in his heels, trying to move his body up and fighting the bound wrists. More hair wound its way from his ankles and up to his knees, stretching his lower body to the bottom posts. He cursed again. She had such long hair that it still swept behind her back before trailing to the floor and bed. She daintily crawled up on the bed, smiling, fully exposed as her hair was otherwise occupied, between his legs. “You see me,” she said softly, “let’s see you.” Her hair from his wrists crawled towards the opening of his shirt, the tips going under the fabric and he felt the smooth texture sliding down the middle of  his chest, then stomach, almost tickling, till it stopped at his belt. It strained up against the fabric and the fabric parted in the middle, with the two sided strands forcing it.

Her smile grew, the eyes tilted more, the full lips seemed to dominate the majority of her face. “How nice,” she crooned. The hair around his knees loosened – not the ankles so he still couldn’t move, and likewise traveled to the top of his pants. She reached up and used her fingers – a move that surprised him as he hadn’t seen her do anything with them, and undone the belt, then the hair pulled the pants down, for the barest of second released his ankles to pull them fully off of him before clenching even tighter around his ankles. He was afraid his feet were going to lose feeling.

He felt exposed, tried to suck in his gut and expand his chest- he was unsure if he did it to look more handsome or stronger. Maybe both.

“Stay with me,” she repeated, leaning over him, sliding her breasts from his belly to his chest, looking down at his face, smiling all the while. He became fixated on the green of her eyes, such a pretty green, and they came closer to him as she leaned down to lick at his lips again. They both kept the contact as he opened his mouth and kissed her back this time, suddenly not feeling awkward anymore. The kissed last until he felt he couldn’t breathe, but still he didn’t break it, she moved away with a laugh. Moved lower, and licked at his left nipple, biting it hard until he cried out. Hair curled around his neck and around his mouth. “Shh,” she said, from somewhere lower, “we will play before the witch sees us. Once you see her, you will no longer think of me.”

He wasn’t being choked exactly, but it was a bind around his neck that he couldn’t move from, nor take great breaths. He felt weak ever since the kiss, and didn’t even bother to fight against the newest bond. Her breath tickled the inside of his thigh, before doing the same lick and hard bite that he felt on his nipple.  He complained behind the thickness of her hair against his mouth, and in opening his mouth, the hair began to fill his mouth, until he felt he would gag from it. He stopped any noise, frightened.

She moved her mouth to the base of his shaft, and slowly licked up…he tensed, expecting the teeth to clamp down hard upon his member.

He wondered how bad it would hurt.

He wondered if she meant him harm.

He wondered if this was what a sacrifice felt like.

He wondered about the witch…would she save him or kill him?

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 2:57 pm