Nervously, she approached the scale, her heels a staccato echoing, rebounding against the walls, booming to her own ears. Sure, it was her choice to proceed – but the decision, once she made it, would be taken out of her hands if she made the cut.
The room was a mellow blue color, stark, as if it was trying to calm the single occupant allowed in – until you saw the intimidating scale in the middle of the room.
Why did she feel that this was a good decision? She knew how she would be used for years, but she also knew that it was the shortest career in her community until she was allowed to lead a life of luxury and no one to answer to once she retired. She knew she would still be desired, and sought after by men and women alike.
Just the thought of how she would be used, how she would be desired after retirement, made her quicken her pace to match her increased heart beat.
She stepped on the scale without hesitation, wanted to seem confident – that had to score her some points towards approval, right?
There was a faint buzzing sound in the room, a type of machine hum that was very to distinguish, and she was grateful someone had warned her that she would feel a little dizzy and a bit of queasiness. She knew every part of her was being analyzed, including her thoughts, and she expected to feel more violated than what she was.
She just stood there, awaiting judgment.
Thanks to modern technology – it wasn’t a long wait. A male chuckle was heard. “My, my, aren’t you naughty girl?” came over the loudspeaker. “Touch your toes, let’s see what we have here,” and suddenly she bent at the waist, her dress beginning to tingle against her skin before slowly dripping down, no longer solid. It was so cold against her skin, and she couldn’t help but stand up straight in surprise. “No, no, darling, you do as I say. You do as we all say from now on,” and her hands were forcibly put on her hips, her elbows pulled back, and she began to bend over again from some invisible force.
Her dress began disappearing and she felt the air on her ass cheeks, between her moist slit. She felt that she should feel ashamed, but she didn’t – she had been accepted!
She heard the clicking of shoes come near near but was unable to turn her head to look behind her, and suddenly a finger stroked up and down her exposed labia.”So wanton, already. You’ll make a lovely pet, or slave, or whatever else is demanded of you,” a woman’s voice purred, before a finger slipped inside of her. “But you really must learn to be better behaved. This room will be the only thing gentle, the people training you will use force.”
She felt her pussy clench in excitement at the thought of what the training included. By this point, her clothes had dissolved into nothing.
She has been accepted! She still couldn’t believe it. This was such a small field of work in her community, people used for the darker flavors of sexuality, for a safe haven for those who sought it out and did not wish for the most preferred methods in the community. She knew that if rejected, she could have been in another field of work, and come to seek the services in her down time, but that was expensive, and didn’t sound as exciting as offering those services.
She couldn’t wait to be used. “Come,” said the woman, and suddenly her body was released. She waited until the woman’s finger was withdrawn, already missing its intrusiveness, and slowly straightened up. She wanted to make this woman proud, she wanted to meet the man behind the voice a moment ago.
She fairly dripped at the thoughts racing, the anticipation.
Key Words: disappear
Banned Words: liquid
Word Limit: 422 words
Bonus Words: non-Newtonian
I’m so over on word count, it’s ridiculous.
Sigh. Another toss, another turn. The bed was not my friend tonight, and frankly, neither was my head. Insomnia being my constant companion was wearing on me. I was irritable, tired, and worn thin.
I felt his hand slide across the cool sheets, reaching for me. My insomnia was now becoming his companion too. He caressed my hip and rolled me over. In the dim glow from the clock I saw his eyes searching my face, seeing my angst. He kissed my forehead and then got out of bed. I watched as he headed towards our toy chest. My interest peaked.
My lover returned to our bed with restraints in hand… that and the paddle.
He removed the blankets that were shielding my naked body from him and gently nipped at the round globe of one of my buttocks. His hands slid up my body and he secured my hands in the leather cuffs. He attached the cuffs to one of the hard points I had installed on my bed for play. Stretched out across the bed on my stomach, my heart beat an extra rhythm.
“Clearly counting sheep isn’t working for you tonight, my love. So, in an effort to get you to sleep, instead we’ll see how counting strikes works.”
I was wholly on board with this plan. I loved spankings, I loved that paddle, and I loved the way he worked my body. His hands smoothed over the skin of my ass and I felt the light sting of his palm delivering the first blow. I can’t cold start with impact, I need to be warmed up. The blood needs to rise with my desire and then I am putty in his hands. I was lost in thought when suddenly the smack of wood meeting rump reverberated through the room.
The counting had started. I squirmed and jerked and suddenly sighed. I needed this release. My lover continued his administrations and never once admonished me about the disobedience of my not keeping count. I was lost in the sensation and the pleasure he delivered with each blow. I can’t tell you how much time passed before I was suddenly tired as a kitten, floating in my own special space. Suddenly the sound of the paddle ceased and I felt my lover place a gentle kiss on each cheek he had brought to glowing color.
He eased back into bed and pulled me into his arms as he released my hands from their binds. As we were drifting to sleep he chuckled at my barely audible “sheep are overrated”.
Bringing Up the Past
1. What is the nickname a lover had for you that made you cringe?
Longbottom. He was making fun of my lack of ass, and he had so many jokes about it, it’s a wonder I never slapped him. It’s not a great ass, but it wasn’t as horrific as he constantly made it out to be. Longbottom stuck the most.
2. Where do you most often toss or keep your excess change (coins)?
In a change purse in my actual purse. If I’m carrying my purse, it goes in my jean pockets until I get home to my purse. I’m pretty damn organized that way.
3. If someone wrote a book about your past lovers and past sex life, which category fits best:
a. Abnormal psychology book
b. Steamy romance novel
c. Sad sad story
Most of my partners in the past have been abnormal, more than a few arrested or institutionalized – so that alone makes the choice (A). Compounded with it has always been a challenge for me to find a partner that can keep up with my drive, and very few have sparked off on my desire for kink. Additionally, I also was looked down upon and judged because my drive is so high, and was constantly trying to fight against myself once I realized my partner disapproved. It hasn’t been until my husband that I’ve fully embraced all parts of me and found a peaceful way to accept who I am (most of the time).
4. Some say sex is like driving. Pretend you are a car. Are you: rear, front or all-wheel drive?
All-wheel, if I’m understanding this analogy right. I’m a bit of a switch on a rare mood, loved being on top (and still do when my torn hip cooperates), and adore doggy style. Missionary has never bored me either.
If we’re speaking front side or back side between my legs, then I don’t do anal, and don’t care for clitoral stimulation.
Yeah, not sure on the analogy: if I were driving the car I’d get it more, but I am the damn car.
5. What is it that you do daily that you would like to stop doing?
Being addicted to chapstick – I can’t go more than an hour without it, and that’s only if I’ve forgotten it and need to run to a store (yes, I’ve even left work to go purchase chapstick – fortunately, I keep a spare in my car most of the time). And waking up in the middle of the night – I’d love to just sleep right through it. And being a morning person – 4 am is just ridiculous to have that amount of energy and so is going to bed at 8 pm (20:00) even when I was a teenager. I’m also developing this annoying habit of putting my hair between my lips (though it doesn’t touch the inside of my mouth so it doesn’t come away all covered in saliva) – I think it’s because I have an oral fixation and I no longer smoke nor bite my nails.
6. What is the biggest lie you ever told to get someone into bed or the biggest lie you ever told in bed?
Faking orgasms is a pretty big lie – and one I try not to duplicate like I used to. Sometimes it’s not them-it’s me, and I just want to be done. For the most part, I try to be honest if it sucks – but gently honest.
Bonus: If married, who was interested in marriage first, you or your spouse?
Neither? Honestly, I have no idea. We both weren’t very keen on marriage, but being military and traveling so much pretty much was the nail in that coffin. We didn’t want to separate – it’s why I keep renewing my (what I consider yearly) wedding contract (he hates when I verbally confirm my agreeing to another year – I’m not an easy person to be married to, I’ve been told).
To be fair – it was probably him, though. He’s more sentimental and old-fashioned; he’s an amazing man who never questions his commitment to me. When I grow up, I want to be more like him because he is about the coolest individual I know.
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Laying in bed, I rolled over and positioned myself to give him a blow job – a sure signal that I was in the mood and we were having sex. He didn’t complain.
After some time, I traveled up his body, leaving a trail of kisses behind me. I playfully bit his neck, kissed and sucked his sensitive zones there, and shifted to his mouth.
He smiled and turned away. “What makes you think you warrant a kiss?”
I smiled back playfully, my hands gripped the side of his face and I attempted to force his head still for a kiss.
I was suddenly on my back, forcefully thrown off of him and pinned down by a hand around my throat. Okay, so maybe we weren’t being playful.
“Who is in charge?”
“You,” I couldn’t help smiling. That firm voice was one that gets me excited and anticipating what’s to come.
“That’s right. I have another idea for your mouth,” he leaned back briefly to grab some lube and then positioned his cock at my mouth. He slowly inserted it and withdrew, once, twice, and then pushed back to the resistance of my throat. I opened wider, exhaled, opened my throat to try to accommodate more. I didn’t get much more, but some. “So good, you’re getting there,” he stated softly, his finger teased between my lips, plunged in and curled deliciously. I whimpered and arched, so ready to cum already. He stopped and looked at me. “No cumming,” he ordered.
I took a deep breath, nodded, tried to relax with his finger rather than tense against it. He rubbed in ways that I loved, but I kept my eyes opened and focused on his face and didn’t cum. He leaned down beside me, his hand patted and then smacked at my lips as he whispered in my ear, “you can cum when I kiss you. Really kiss you. Not when you force me to, not when my lips graze yours,” his mouth hovered over my lips, stirred from one corner to the other, lips so close that my tongue could easily touch – wanted to touch. He stopped smacking. “You can’t cum until I kiss you,” he repeated, still kept his mouth close to my own, the finger again inserted and rubbed, the palm brushed against sensitively stung skin. He coerced my body to squirt.
“What did you just do?” he sounded disappointed. I was angry at him for forcing an orgasm that I had no control over.
“I came,” I all but wailed.
“Yes you did. What should I do now?”
“Kiss me?” I suggested.
“What are you going to do to be punished?”
I hated being asked to decide my own punishment. It wasn’t fair. Especially since he forced the orgasm. “Head?”
“You won’t like it,” he warned. I loved giving him head. “Understand? It’s a punishment,” he picked me up like a rag doll and flung me to the side of the bed, a hand in my hair with my head over the side before I could get my bearings. I opened my mouth to receive him and he thrusted in, deeply, not giving me time to adjust. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden and I tried to take more of him, to relax around him. He withdrew and pushed right back in, hit the back and kept pushing patiently. My hand slapped at his thigh, I couldn’t breathe. When he withdrew, I coughed.
“No cumming,” he reminded me and pushed me into the center of the bed. He entered my body, and I took calming breaths, kept my eyes on him, tried not to cum. He positioned himself up to rub a place that is amazing to me. I struggled to relax.
“Please, let me cum,” I begged. I touched his face softly, my hands roamed his body and went back to his face, occasionally tried to pull him closer to my face. “Please kiss me.”
“Oh you can cum,” he said, “whenever you want. And if you keep putting your hands on my face to insist on a kiss, I will put hands on your face.” I withdrew my hands, kept them to his shoulders. With him fully in control, my brain stopped thinking and I just felt what was going on.
Then, he positioned pillows under my hips and the head rubbed up against the roof of my body. I tried, but this time to no avail. I tensed and arched and orgasmed, didn’t even try to hide something he could feel around him, and moaned. He let me calm down, increased the tempo until I almost came again…almost. He edged me four or five times, it felt easily like twenty times. I thought he was being extreme. He withdrew.
“And now what’s it to be?” He flipped me over, reached for some rope and tied my wrists to the bedpost, stretched me slanted across the bed. “Come on, decide. You came.”
“Anything, please let me cum,” my body trembled from all the edging, from the need for release.
“Should I beat you?” He hand spanked my ass, hard, not building up but already at the level that stung and kept that.
“Yes, please let me cum.” My ass already felt hot and red.
A blindfold was placed on my face. I heard him in the toy chest. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you decide your punishment-”
“Anything,” I panted, desperate.
“You can choose what’s in my left hand or my right. That’s all I’m going to give you.”
I had the choice but no clue what they were. Evil. Wicked. He’s left-handed; an instrument with more precision and force was easier with his left hand. “Right.”
“Okay,” he took a moment, and then his hand was back to spanking. “This isn’t it. This is your warm up.” I tried to remain still and not twist away from his hand. I have no idea if I was successful but suddenly his hand stopped and hot wax poured down the cheek that was already hot and sensitive.
I cried out, jerked, felt wax run towards my sex, froze. That was why he needed a moment and spanked me – for the wax to melt. He poured some more, and it burned against skin recently hit. It was a challenge to remain still; I was vocal about the pain, however.
“We’ll go up a little distance,” he said, and the wax splattered and pooled up my spine. Something cold touched the center of my back and I shuddered from the surprise. More hot wax rained around the cold object. “Stay still if you don’t want to burn yourself,” he warned. I realized that the shockingly cold object was the candle holder laying on the center of my back.
He was seriously testing my will tonight. Staying still was never my strong suit.
He took off the blindfold and I saw him untying my wrists. He picked up the candle and put it on the nightstand. “Come here,” he hand was in my hair as he dragged/motioned me to the headboard. I gripped the top, my breasts against the cool wood, and he entered and pounded into my body. The hand compelled my head to the side, and he kissed me with a crazy passion. When he stopped, I was breathless and already orgasming. The head of his penis crashed into my wall repeatedly, caused both pleasure and pain. I was going to feel it later, but my body welcomed it, I pushed against him as he pushed into me and a tempest dance of a harsh orgasm welled. My screams covered his own sounds of pleasure.
It was the roughest we had ever had sex, I thought.
After, my body unable to even move, my fingers too sore from gripping the headboard to release it, he eased out of me and gently pulled me away, onto the soft mattress and against his body. He curled me up tightly against him, my back on the bed, the top of my head tucked into his chest with his face securely keeping it there, his arms my anchor and blanket, my legs draped over his. He held me, kept me warm, praised me, loved me, cherished me until my trembling ceased and I drifted into a deep slumber.
I needed that.
Some people are not going to agree to this, and that’s okay. I wouldn’t be with you. I believe that sex is mandatory, that my sexual expectation is that I’m going to have intimacy with consistency, so much so that I demanded it (before agreeing to marriage) twice a day, every day, except once a week he calls a day if he wants it (because we all have bad days).
A bit extreme? Perhaps. But I know my sex drive, I know that it is high, and I’ve apologized and worked around it far too much in my life. I know what keeps me happy, what keeps me connected to my partner. Twice a day is already a compromise most days.
And it isn’t as extreme as I first demanded. Most days, it’s just once a day. But let me tell you what that once a day has meant: it meant surviving the worst three years of both of our lives, when he was falling asleep at the wheel constantly due to lack of sleep and never home but for a hours. (Sadly, this is not an exaggeration, he worked 18 hour days for six days a week, and occasionally had off Sunday – where he was a grumpy zombie we all avoided. We both would have rather him been deployed.) Those hours were all we could connect in, and because I made a demand in our relationship, he would wake me at whatever odd hours he came in at, and while it was certainly a quickie so he could get precious sleep, it was still a time where he woke me up, where we had a brief conversation, where we connected. The other people that did that horrific job? The majority of them lived apart or divorced. We stayed connected, and he certainly wouldn’t have woke me to talk – he woke me because he knew I needed that intimacy with him to stay connected in our relationship. And so we did have brief moments where we connected/had sex/talked briefly/expressed our love to each other.
Even now that the job is done (thank goodness), we are certainly at once a day most days. It’s not because my sex drive is any lower, it’s because I love this man and trust that he loves me without a constant intimate connection, and because I will compromise all I can to stay happy with him.
It’s that compromise, commitment, and love that has him meeting his quota (as he calls it), even if he isn’t always in the mood. I’ve heard it described as “maintenance sex” before, and I think that’s a beautiful term. It helps us maintain a level of intimacy, it reaffirms our relationship. We aren’t just parents, friends, or roommates – we are lovers. I don’t always want to talk, but if we need to, we do. It’s the same concept. It’s a hug – you wouldn’t tell your lover no to a hug, would you? It’s a give and take, and it’s important for the maintenance of our marriage – by tending to the special lovers aspect with consistency.
I don’t guilt or force him to have sex, I just let my drive set the pace, and was upfront about my expectation. Hell, most of the time I don’t initiate anymore (a point he’s complained about, so I’ll get over my feelings of pushing for sex). He doesn’t have to even give me amazing sex, we just have to connect on an intimate level for the sake of enjoying each other’s bodies and giving pleasure. Does it often turn into amazing sex? Hell yes it does! And that’s another point: it’s not long before both of us are normally in the mood once we start, and by giving into our exhaustion, foul moods, arguments, stress or anything else that prevents us from feeling “in the mood” we would miss out on a lot of opportunities for great sex or even just intimacy.
I am aware that I place a lot of value on sexual intimacy with him, and so is he, which is why we both came to the terms before we agreed to marry each other. I realize that many people would in theory desire this much sex, but in reality life happens and the demand for sex does take it toll.
I’ve written about this quota on Reddit, on comments to other people’s blogs, and on TMI Tuesdays memes.
And very early on I even blogged about it – Key to Happiness. I just don’t think I’ve put it out there to quite the same extreme.
We had just finished, but I ached for her again. Longed. It always starts within moments after we finish. She was laying in satin, body soft putty, eyes half mast. Just looking at her made me grow more than half mast. She stretches and I can bear it no more, I hold her down, I entwine myself into an embrace. I spend hours envisioning her like this, I invest time in learning about her sensuality and reading her body language.
Her knowledge fills me with pain and pleasure and sex and possibility.
I know when I grab her hips, if she arches, I need to pound into her – I have no fear of hurting her – just of not fucking her hard enough, push her down until her face is smothered in the fabric.
If she whips her hair around, that is my cue to grip it and yank as I mount her, hard impale and make her bend her body to where she’s comfortably uncomfortable. I can feel the tell tale signs of her quivering sex, her erratic movements against my groin, cum and sweat dripping down our thighs, coating my cock, and I hold on for all I am worth and let her grind at a slower tempo until she climaxes. Often, she takes me with her.
Her screams make me readjust, reassure her that she will survive this tempest. She has never felt so alive as in these moments.
We ride together.
Just like we both did that fateful day and did not survive an actual ride. I have an eternity to make up for a careless mistake, and she continues to take me to heaven.
I like Neil Gaiman’s book The Graveyard and I like the idea of ghosts being their normal selves – going about making friends and raising a family. Why not two lovers having all the time in the world to enjoy and explore each other?
I had a whole group of photos to share from my graveyard excursions (of which there are many), that I was going to insert some thoughts into. But sadly, while working on this, my computer crashed, broke, and refuses to turn back on. It died.
I love graveyards because of the history and the art. I love learning a gated grave off in the corner may have been a prostitute or criminal, and fenced-in so that their spirit cannot escape, or so that they can be further separated from the “proper people”. We still struggle with appropriate society norms – but fortunately don’t go to the extremes that you can learn about in historical graveyards. There is a graveyard in Old Town, San Diego, where researchers write an entire life story once they learn it and post it next to the tombstone – I love that especially. Sadly, they paved a road over part of the graveyard, and some of the markers are in the road to indicate a person’s plot – my husband refuses to drive down that street, and will cross and take another direction to avoid it. When we first met, he refused to walk in graveyards, but has since compromised that stance when we travel together – it still makes him slightly uncomfortable. He used to view my fascination as morbid, and now realizes that I learn -and enjoy learning-so much from exploring, that it uses a more visual representation to a family – or battleground. Graveyards, and the stories they tell, fascinate me, but they do not turn me on. I would never want to have sex in one, and my husband would certainly never be willing to.
Despite my love of exploring these places, my family doesn’t have a burial ground area, nor even a common location to visit our dead – for example, my mother’s ashes were spread at her favorite place. I hope to have my ashes spread at her location as well, as it is still my favorite place despite all the traveling and exploring I’ve done as an adult.
Photo courtesy of CurvaceousDee
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Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
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A Peachy Night
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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
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