Jan 122015
 

Alice tried to remember who had given her the key…surely it could not have been her lover, Thomas, though the man’s words perfectly mimicked his voice. Whoever that man was gave her a choice to make, and Thomas never afforded her that luxury.

She pondered his statement of the key. “You are always free to not love me, and if ever you decide that you no longer love me, set yourself truly free and be gone. But if you love me, you will commit to me and hand me this key back, considering all your other freedoms mine. You will be present at all times for my desires, always within acquiescence access of whatever I decide to do to you.”

She felt herself shaking at the words, and forced herself to inhale – held for a feeling of control, exhaled and released her tension…well, most of it. She knew Thomas as a demanding lover, a commanding presence both in his professional and private life. She also knew he was perceptive and not unduly harsh – the latter a fact his household staff appreciated, the first they groaned at when everything was noticed when not done correctly. His praise was sparse, but when it came, it was so gloriously felt.

Alice did not want to think; she wanted to have this momentous decision taken from her. She did not relish the responsibility for her own possible demise. And she certainly didn’t want to admit that she was willing to sacrifice so much to another’s will.

Yet, she did love him, and she felt like she fully came alive under Thomas’ love. She knew he loved her, though those words were as rare as his praise. She fancied a quick daydream where he was pacing in his bedroom, awaiting her decision. Smiling, she shook her head a little at how preposterous that idea was, and found her feet moving of their own accord towards his room.

Nervously, her hands once again shaking, she knocked. She gripped the key so tightly in her fist she felt that she would cut herself on the metal, felt like the imprint would forever be there to be viewed whenever she uncurled her fingers and exposed her palm. When he granted permission to enter, she opened the door a little too vigorously and stood stumped in the threshold.

In the immense room, he was sitting on the couch by the window, reading a book, the sun cascading over his fabulous form, beaming on half of him, casting shadows on the other. Such a complicated man, she thought.

“Yes?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in askance.

His voice was soft and collected, as it always was, but she flinched as if he yelled at her. She spun around and shut the door, took another long breath and stared at the wood, realized she still had no idea what she would decide to his proposal, had half hoped she would simply enter and he would sweep her up and make the resolution for her.

Her back felt warm, and she hoped he wasn’t staring at it as she stared stupidly at a door for far too long. She turned around again.

The key hurt in her hand.

The walk was incredibly long to span the room.

His gaze was steadily following her, the book placed beside his solid thigh. She stared at the floor as she moved, hoped she looked like she confidently floated, felt like was in danger of falling at every move. She saw his feet and glanced up at the man. Why was he not talking, not moving? It was unnerving.

It was her move to make.

Knowing he waited on her, she sunk down the floor, grateful to not be relying on unstable legs to hold her up any longer, grateful for the fullness of her skirts shielding what felt like tangled limbs underneath. She couldn’t take his piercing look any more and looked to his hands, those beautiful hands that played her body as if she was a instrument capable of heavenly music, now rested on his lap.

“I-,” she closed her mouth quickly, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get words out of her mouth fully formed, capable of the depth of her thoughts right now. She raised her hand and offered the key, offered her will and her love to him. One of his hands moved- she imagined it hesitated in enjoyable surprise- and gently, softly, as if he was afraid she would close her palm and didn’t want to alert her with touch, took possession of the key. It disappeared into a pocket.

“Mine.”

Alice had a conflicted instinct to smile at his almost childlike insistence and a desire to run away from the firmness of the man before her.

“Yours.” She was proud she didn’t squeak that word, that she sounded collected and assured.

Suddenly she was seized at her throat and her hair, her head forced up and her eyes directed at Thomas. He seemed to be searching her expression for clues, she tracked the movement of his eyes calmly.

She was His.

He pulled her up from that position and dragged her across the couch, the forgotten book barely noticeable under her thighs, kissed her on the mouth for a profound length of time, till she ached and was breathless. He uncovered his body from hers, kneeled beside her gasping body, raised her skirts to her knees, the fingers warm and teasing against her skin. Relaxed, at peace, she rested her gaze comfortably on his face and watched him. He removed her boots and stockings and she felt something cold encompassing her ankle before hearing a click. She leaned up on elbows and curiously looked at the thin shackle on her ankle, surprised that she felt no panic, surprised at the gesture and felt pleased with the gift. She imagined him running rope through it to hold her down, and felt herself grow wet with the thought.

When he completed the other ankle, he moved to her head. His hands again took position of her head by means of throat and hair so she couldn’t look away. “What are you committing to?”

She gulped, hated that he asked her for words. She felt herself grow hot and wished she could turn her gaze away from him. She felt the unfamiliar weight on her ankles. “I belong to you. I am yours. I am whatever you want me to be, whenever you will have me.”

He smiled and she felt so proud of his approval. He leaned down and kissed her again, this time more tenderly but with no less passion.

She loved this man who had given her the key.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 9:58 am
Jan 082015
 

iphone 214

“What are you doing?” she asked as she slid in between the sheets to lay beside him in bed.

With one hand he put his phone face down on his chest, the other hand conspicuously absent.

She smiled at him knowingly. “What’s your masturbation photo? What turns you on?” she inquired, curious. New to the budding relationship, she was intensely curious about everything about him.

Seeing as how she seemed so at ease with the question, he tentatively decided to share.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “right now I was looking at this cute girl,” she wrinkled her nose at the word cute, which didn’t strike her as sexy, and knew she wouldn’t attempt to be cute just for a fantasy of his. Already a strike against her. He saw her look and was concerned at what it meant, unsure to continue.

“…and?” she prompted, leaned down and took a nipple gently in between her teeth, the phone almost bumping her forehead on his hard chest.

“And she’s gazing up at me with these sexy eyes. She has this curvy figure that I am looking down on.”

“Is she going down on you?” she asked, felt turned on by him sharing this fantasy, felt herself tighten and grow wet at the thought of her own mouth wrapped around his cock. Her hand slipped under the covers, stroked the inside of his thigh softly, teased its way up slowly.

“No, she’s just looking up,” he gulped, his eyes mesmerized by her expression – a look he was recognizing as lust and mischief, his body fixated on her hand which strayed up and softly pulled on his hardened shaft. His thighs jerked at the gentle touch, his cock jerked against her palm.

She chuckled,”that’s a pretty realistic fantasy. You’re so tall everyone looks up.”

“She’s not a fantasy, she’s a reality.” The hand stopped stroking and she looked concerned at him. Before he lost his nerve, he gripped his phone and showed her the photo on his background, the one he took of her last week in her pajamas she never intended him to see – because they weren’t sexy. He thought they were incredibly sexy…and cute.

She smiled, “good save. And I can’t believe you took that photo of me.”

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to wear it around me ever. You look so…” she glared, so he amended what he was going to say, “sexy.”

She laughed, knowing the correction he made, and went back to stroking him.

“Speaking of the inspiration from that outfit,” he put down his phone, “there is something trapped inside me and needs to get out. Will you rescue me?”

She laughed again. She loved corny lines; it was how he first picked her up. “Hmm,” she rolled on top of him, “with my hand, my mouth or my body? I am a woman of extraordinary talents.”

She smiled down at him and he couldn’t help but grin right back. “I’ll leave the rescue mission up to you.”

 

**502 words. Honestly, I think the redhead in the prompt for this week is so hot, and I definitely send photos like that to my lover. However, when I read the prompt, I thought of a real life moment. No matter what, the sweet memory wouldn’t be vanquished, so I surrendered and brought it to light. 

I never wear this outfit for him, it’s been more what I wear with yoga or cleaning, I would not view it as lingerie or sexy. And I hate the word cute, a word so frequently used to describe me (damn my short stature). He’s been working for a long time to sway me that when he thinks I look cute, he can also view me as sexy. I’m not buying it. It was years before he saw me in it. But once he did, he had this photo in his phone for quite some time. 

 

Flash Fiction Friday

Key Words: Rescue
Forbidden Words: Hero
Word Limit: 432 words 
Extra Credit: Make everyone come
Bonus Words: +123 words if the superhero gets the last laugh

 Posted by at 10:31 am
Jan 082015
 

There was no rope. There were no floggers or paddles, restraints or hot wax. There was no slapping or biting, degradation or orders.

There was only me, in your arms. Caressing, exploring, in adoration of each other. There were lips and soft kisses, fingertips and sighs. A sensitive spot, an in drawn breath. A rhythm, naturally obtained, drawn together in harmony. There was bliss and contentment, soft whispers and fulfillment.

The sacred comes in many ways, be it kink or vanilla, the point of everything is the bond between two bodies coming together and reaching a place of ecstasy.

Jan 062015
 

As this is a time of reflection, a personal glimpse into the past year:

Fabulous moments:

Joining Fetlife: what is great about this site is that  you don’t feel alone in having a particular kink, as you discover there are so many people who also share that desire. It is also great to go out and meet local people, to learn how to be safe when trying a new kink, to watch others. My husband and I try to get out as much as we can, together and even separately (due to having children more than scheduling).

Learning rope suspensions: We’ve been doing bedroom bondage for quite awhile, but with the capacity to learn from others through Fetlife, we have now moved into suspensions. We are still  learning and experimenting.

Making rope: this came with suspensions, as the classes we’ve been attending rope is a huge discussion. My husband, in his very typical way, claimed he could make rope, and we both discovered we preferred hemp rope. So off he went, and he’s made such beautiful rope, and can do all sorts of crazy colors now. This is a hobby that he is passionate about, and we’ve been lucky people in the kink community buy his rope so that he can financially afford to continue this hobby.

Buying a new flogger: yay for craftsmanship. I don’t know that I am ever going to buy a flogger from a commercial sex store, as the quality you can find from individuals is just astounding. Mine was custom made from Sovran. And it’s exactly the feeling I wanted (I hate sting, but can zone out with thump). We haven’t had many opportunities to use it, as a flogger isn’t a quiet toy to use while the kids are sleeping, but I’m definitely adding this to a new kink explored.

Slave Hunt: A well orchestrated event that the first thing to greet our view was large posts in the ground with rings at the top for bondage. People set up shade, spread blankets and chairs in front of these “whipping posts”. People signed up prior to the event if they wanted to be hunted or hunter, the hunted offered up bounties so the hunters could decide who they wanted to find. There were several rounds. My husband signed up to be prey twice, hunter once.

The rules were the prey were released into the forest ten to fifteen minutes before the hunters were released. If found, prey was offered the chance to surrender or if they ran when spotted, then the hunter had paint balls set on low. There were many more rules that made this safe for both parties.

Once the prey was caught, the hunter escorted them to the post and the preys’ wrists were tied. At the top of their post was a card with the already written hard limits. The spectators then came up with toys or just themselves and played with the prey until the round was over. The sooner the prey was caught, the longer they were played with by the spectators. My husband has a scar from this event, though had a blast with the adrenaline rush that comes from hiding being hunted. Everyone says that it is far more exciting to be hunted than the hunter, and my husband agrees after experiencing both. I was just a spectator.

Everyone was incredibly respectful during every aspect of the rounds, and then pitched in and helped each other in the clean up after the event. It was well thought out and organized. I can’t even begin to fathom how hard the group that runs this event works, nor all the planning that is involved.

Flops

Polyamory: With him being gone and so stressed out, adding this new stress factor wasn’t kind. Who knows if we gave it an honest attempt, but the timing was off. And now we are dealing with the emotional repercussions that will take quite a bit of time to heal.

Separate sex: With the polyamory thing, husband didn’t want to have a threesome at the last minute, so decided that I would have sex with our friend and then shower and have sex with him. Friend was fantastic at spanking me, but what I failed to think about is what the noise of that would do to husband – until I heard the wall being punched. This is when we knew that polyamory wouldn’t work with husband so stressed and angry all the time.

Pegging: We’re at least giving this a break, as he doesn’t enjoy it as much as he thought and I am not competent in this despite my many tries. I wrote a post on it here.

Acccomplishing my Christmas Wish:

*You can find the list here from both of us sisters. I specifically wanted to accomplish four things on a list over a couple of weeks since I was childless.

Colored wax made by A! Can you see the knife he used for carving the Cherry Tree?

Colored wax made by A!
Can you see the knife he used for carving the Cherry Tree?

  1. Wax Art: I loved this. We had no idea what we were doing (though I researched some tips),and didn’t quite have a big enough wax foundation. Still, it was what I was hoping for. I’m grateful my husband is so good with a knife, as that was his carving and decorating tool of choice. We also used some paintbrushes. My sister made the colored candles, making this first experience all the more memorable.
  2. Rope around my nipples: we need thinner rope for this with his idea, the thicker rope I prefer to be suspended with just isn’t the same. And of course, my husband wants to go far more complicated than I imagined, because any rope around nipples would suffice for my expectation.
  3. Tied with Lights: far exceeded my expectations (I was just thinking a Christmas strand of lights strung around wrists or legs), though it took the help of a friend. It was a far more complicated and creative suspension. Best part? It was a dual suspension as well, our first time and another one of my bucket list items crossed off.
  4. Longer play sessions: yes, and even experimented with some new things! I’m writing them up, but they’re very rough drafts and need a lot of smoothing in editing, as composing them I was still dazed and wobbly.

 

 Posted by at 8:45 am
Jan 052015
 

He’s finally home from work, and I can’t wait to see his reaction. I’ve decided to play the roll of Susie Homemaker tonight and have dinner on the table, candles lit, a sexy little dress, and stilettos to greet him. He looks around the room and comes to me, kissing me with tenderness, passion, and even thankfulness for the effort I’ve gone through.

I usher him to the table and serve him his food. When I sit beside him he grabs my hand and squeezes. I beam with pleasure that I’ve been able to brighten his day. Dinner over, we sit on the couch and he holds me. I love being safe in his arms and just enjoying the quiet togetherness. His hand is lazily brushing my arm as he tells me about his day. It couldn’t be a more perfect night.

I stand up to go to the kitchen and he pats my ass and suggests we go to the room instead. Success! Okay, so maybe my intentions with tonight weren’t entirely selfless. I really really wanted a nice long session in the bedroom. Dinner and dress up I figured would go a long way. He tenderly cups my cheek as we reach the room and kisses me gently on the lips. I gaze into his eyes and once again get lost in their depth.

He goes around the bed and opens the chest on the floor. My interest suddenly rises another notch. Red rope, pink rope, black rope, all land on the bed. My insides are doing a happy dance. Next to follow though are the leather cuffs and the spreader bar. The rope gets put away. Typically, if the rope is on me, the focus is usually there… if the cuffs are on me however, the focus is on the strikes delivered and a game of “how red can my ass get?” I squirm a little.

He beckons me to him and I obey. Of course I obey. He rubs my hair and tells me how lovely I look tonight, right before he tells me to strip down, but the stilettos can stay if I wish. I shoot him a look over my shoulder, only to receive a raised eyebrow back. My sass always gets me in trouble. He secures my restraints and puts the spreader bar in place. He’s a smart man, and he knows me, so his tools of choice haven’t been grabbed until I’m entirely bound.

I see the hair brush. I quickly wonder at the feasibility of trying to hop away naked in stilettos, with my wrists affixed to my ankles, and give it up as a bad job. He’d only catch me quickly, get a laugh, then give me extra spanks with the hairbrush. I’m not a fool! I stay where I’m put. A few different paddles come out, as well as the chain glove and I suddenly realize: tonight is gonna hurt. I hope he grabs the ball gag; yup, he grabbed the gag.

He comes over and brushes my hair away to affix the gag in place.

Good thing too, because he then informs me I’m not getting fucked tonight. Just a good beating to thank me for dinner. I reconsider the hobbled flight from the room. I’m grumbling to myself around the gag, fully distracted, when the first blow lands. No warn up for me! Just a cold start, straight to the hairbrush out of all of the choices. My eyes sting. I’m not so grumbly as I was anymore. I’m focused entirely on the abuse being fired out to my posterior.

A few blows, quick in succession, cause my eyes to burn. I know what’s coming. I’m a crier. It’s startling to some tops who have never been with one, but it’s a guaranteed thing that if I’m being hit, the waterworks are coming. That’s why he loves me. I’m crying in earnest now and saliva is pooling from the gag. I start whimpering and my posterior is on fire. He stops from his task and comes to check on me, he bends down and cradles my face in his hands, just like earlier. There’s tears and saliva on my face and black streams of mascara flowing down my cheeks.

“I’ve never seen you look more beautiful than you do right this very moment.”

He stands and unfastens my gags. He kisses my shoulders and calls himself a liar. I’ve gotten to him. His hand comes around my throat as he forces my head back and commands me to look in the mirror. To look at the beauty in the destruction of the face I put on for polite society. He grasps my hip with his other hand and pounds into me. Swiftly, unexpectedly, without warning and with great enough force that the rivers running down my cheeks are renewed.

I’m crying still but I don’t know from what. Mostly it feels like ecstasy. His handling of me is fierce and harsh and joyful and lovely all combined in the craziest of expressions. I don’t know why the sight of mascara streaming down my face excites him so, but it does. He unleashes everything on me and I’m a million miles away with him. I come. More than once. I’m so sensitive now I wish I had the gag still to stifle my moans. He finally finds his pleasure and I pant, attempting to regain a regular heartbeat.

Once freed from my binds, he draws me a bath with bubbles and oil. He grabs a wash cloth and holds my chin as he gently cleans the ravages of my makeup from my face. He assists me at my bath, dries me off quickly, and tucks me into his arms in bed. I’m spent and languid and ready to drift off in his arms. He kisses my forehead and whispers thank you in my ear… meanwhile the thought flickers through mine: no, thank YOU cheap mascara.

Kink of the Week}

 Posted by at 9:00 am
Jan 032015
 

blog5_edited-1One night, he decided he wanted to know what it felt like. So with the help of our friend, Mr. Monday, he was roughly suspended and whipped.

To say this was incredibly entertaining is putting it mildly. And it was absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful to witness.
Sinful Sunday
This was a completely new experience for him. What a great way to kick off the New Year. To explore new discoveries in others, click the lips.

Jan 012015
 

Married Man Sex Life writes about doing the thing that drives your spouse crazy. As a spouse who is constantly being driven by no progress made on the thing, this is something I can certainly relate to.

 

A Dissolute Life Means writes You can have a secret sex blog and still be ethical. I am so glad she tackled this subject as bravely as she does and discusses whether disclosure to the people you are writing about is necessary, and when. She also discusses the fear of being outed.

 

Charlie in the Pool writes why the meme, Sinful Sunday, is so important. It’s true, I found the meme to be very enlightening and freeing in a way I never expected.

 

Girl on the Net writes about Where are all the pervy women, and she talks about not only where they are (everywhere), and not as fantasy-like as the question may insinuate, but why they may be hard to find. I love the lines: “You’re a slut or you’re frigid. Madonna or whore. Sex is something which you do for either love or money, but never because you desire it. Blergh. It takes a lot of energy to consistently reject these messages”. Indeed, it took me thirty years to reject all these messages. And if you were still to meet me in a professional setting, you would think I was prude or uptight.

 

Curvaceous Dee also highlighted this writing, The Orgasm Police: Why Female Ejaculation is one of the Last Porn Taboos.  As a woman who is trying to overcome a sexual hangup of squirting, UK’s ban isn’t helping women like me – it’s downright hurting.

 

A Kiss from You, by the LadygardenProject, writes how she fantasizes about being touched, but not kissed. This is so true of me entering relationships.

 

**NOT SEXY, BUT A GREAT PERSPECTIVE ON THE US MILITARY: from A French Soldier’s View of US Soldiers in Afghanistan.

“And combat? If you have seen Rambo you have seen it all – always coming to the rescue when one of our teams gets in trouble, and always in the shortest delay. That is one of their tricks: they switch from T-shirt and sandals to combat ready in three minutes. Arriving in contact with the enemy, the way they fight is simple and disconcerting: they just charge! They disembark and assault in stride, they bomb first and ask questions later – which cuts any pussyfooting short.Honor, motherland – everything here reminds of that: the American flag floating in the wind above the outpost, just like the one on the post parcels. Even if recruits often originate from the hearth of American cities and gang territory, no one here has any goal other than to hold high and proud the star spangled banner. Each man knows he can count on the support of a whole people who provides them through the mail all that an American could miss in such a remote front-line location: books, chewing gums, razorblades, Gatorade, toothpaste etc. in such way that every man is aware of how much the American people backs him in his difficult mission. And that is a first shock to our preconceptions: the American soldier is no individualist. The team, the group, the combat team are the focus of all his attention.”

 Posted by at 8:53 am