Mar 312015
 

1. Who has been the biggest influence in your life?

That’s a really tough one. My parents weren’t around much, my sisters younger (and therefore not an influence) and Catholic School was more to rebel against.  I would have to say my eldest baby. She changed me for the better, influenced me to achievers  the best for us, and continues to inspire. 

2. What kinds of things really make you laugh?

Far above any others would be my children. My son views himself as a comedian, but he really is so much like his big sister with his sarcastic, dry, dark wit. They are ridiculous and brighten my moments considerably. 

I don’t find stupid humor funny, but the oddest things other than that will make me chuckle. I don’t respect others who crack fun at other people’s expense. 
3. What’s your favorite place in the entire world?

For the moment, that’s a ridiculously tough one to answer. I’ll say it’s a tie between being in the rope (wherever the place is) or my bed; pretty much for the same reasons: it’s a place I feel safe, loved, stimulated, pleased, relaxed, and can let go of my problems.
4. Who is your best friend? What do you like about him/her?

Totally corny, but it would be my husband. He’s my number one supporter, understanding, not the best listener but one who is nonjudgmental regardless of what I say. We do almost everything together, or at least in the same vicinity, and I quite enjoy that.

I honestly would like to get to a place where I am my own best friend – I heard that would make me happier and more healthy overall. I would like to think I’m close to this goal most days – other days I’m a bully.

5. What’s your biggest goal in life right now?

Other than being my own best friend? Financial stability. I could lohave had it, but followed my best friend all over the country and made my own retirement shaky at best. I’m really concerned about that – even while admitting I would still continue to do it to be with him.

6. What was your family like growing up?

Hmm, well I blog with my sister so I wonder what I should write here. My family was like most families: dysfunctional. We didn’t see our parents much; we sisters weren’t the kindest to each other, but still knew we could rely on each other. My mother tried at some point, my father continues to flounder in relating to us. Bonus: What is one thing about you that would surprise us?

I am a pain in the ass. I go through moments where I fight my own happiness, not believing that I deserve it. In the fight, I create chaos to those around me – actually just my husband. Boredom is my worst enemy – I have far too much time to think and over analyze my life when I am bored.

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

Happy TMI Tuesday!

 Posted by at 5:54 pm
Mar 312015
 

Shelby Cross writes about calling RED, and the power and the feelings that it evokes. This is a huge fear of mine – that even though I call out my safeword, that he may see this as a failure, that I will see myself as a failure, when it isn’t.

Malin James discusses The Semantics of Sex, specifically the words “making love” and “fuck”. I will not use the words making love because of the emotional attachment and baggage associated to it, but my husband dislikes fucking specifically because it doesn’t seem emotional at all to him. Malin does a brilliant job of thinking of word choice and the connotations associated with it.

Perverted Imp writes about an impact scene that she didn’t ask for. I am a wimp at impact play and I still found this scene hot.

Jade A Waters writes a poem He’s Got Her and it echoes so sweetly with my own feelings towards my husband. A friend just told me that while observing our public scenes, it’s obvious he can play me like an instrument, and it’s a beautiful concert. It’s been a journey for us, but it is effortless in its own way, our trust and love in each other.

A Sexy Woman of a Certain Age writes about 11 things to do, and I love the advice! I can very much relate how when I was younger, I put more stock in his pleasure and my looks than I did just embracing myself and owning my sexuality with confidence.

CaraSutra writes “Pretty when I Cry“, and it’s so fucking hot. I read so much erotica that it’s unusual for it to reach me the same way that this has.

 Posted by at 3:44 pm
Mar 292015
 

*Am I glad that I record (even if I don’t publish) my feelings on this adventure of ours! This is an old writing, when exploring and pushing for what I want, my impatience with the learning curve of two new beginners, and the excitement of the newness prompted reactions that I cringe smile learn from. 

 

So in a bout of frustration, I told my husband I wanted to give up BDSM. (Yes, I know what a large, vague term this is, but hubby knew what it meant.)

“You’re always so extreme,” he stated. And then he proceeded to give me a long list of the how-examples, finishing off with experimenting in BDSM.

Now, I didn’t say give up kinks. I’m not even sure how they’re different but at one point husband said, “we aren’t giving up the basics,” which to me is the kinks we’ve been doing since the get-go. Things like bondage, hair pulling, rope, knife play.

Choking we seem to do quite frequently, and while it isn’t a “basics”, it is so simple to use and puts me in such a nice head space.

Simple to use is the main frustration I’m having.  I requested more dominance, more topping, in our sex life. I have expectations of it. I request it and he sighs like it is a chore (okay, to be fair, I may be perceiving this reaction wrong). Give him more time to plan, he says, or he’s tired, or the noise with kids. I give him more time, I wait to see when he isn’t tired (that man falls asleep the minute he sees the bed), we don’t use the flogger because of the noise.

Side track: we don’t use our brand new, absolutely gorgeous flogger?! We are just learning this, and it seems as though we dropped it after two tries.

“The problem,” I explained, “is that we aren’t even having vanilla sex. Sex is my love language and I am not feeling loved. I’m feeling ignored, taken for granted. I feel like you are a roommate.” We talked over some of those issues, and then I stated, “I don’t even enjoy vanilla sex anymore like I used to. But at least it’s better than nothing. And maybe if we stop BDSM, and my expectations with it, we can go back to having more vanilla sex, and I go back to enjoying it more.” My theory is that my expectations are getting in the way, and while there’s so many ways to deal with this issue, including planning for it, expectations have been the main villian in my disappointment.

And I have really, really been enjoying the aspects that we’ve been experimenting with. I crave it, I want it, all the time. I know it’s not realistic to expect him to give me a scene every time, but it’s still what I want. So while it makes zero sense to give it up, it I am taking all the enjoyment out of coming together intimately, and that needs to change. I need to get back to us, with less pressure and more enjoyment.

“Don’t call it vanilla, it’s sex.” He stressed each word, letting me know that the statement was important to him.

“I’m using that term to explain in a way we both understand,” I defended. Kind of like how I used BDSM.

 

The end result is that he rolled his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and said we aren’t giving up anything, but I need to learn patience and stop being so extreme.

But his point of calling it vanilla made an impression on my brain that won’t go away. Just what that point is, is still fuzzy in my brain.

 

*This writing is untouched, but the italics are now and current. I’m happy to say that our sex life is amazing and whether I want it or not – he ‘s taking control of the situation (except for the occasional request to switch roles). While some words may still be used to help describe and simplify a concept, titles and terms , rules and roles, can go fuck themselves. 

Wicked Wednesday This week is a reflection of beginnings

 Posted by at 10:00 am
Mar 282015
 

8870It’s almost time again for a hunt. I’ve written about it briefly before. At a hotel far later in the evening, this is the aftermath of him hunted in the woods, caught, bound to a post, and played with by the observers. His back and ass were far worse (but for the sake of identifying marks only the front is shown), as his front was hardly touched as it faced the post.

That crescent shaped marking has on his side stomach turned into a scar (he has no idea who marked him there as there were many people around him that day).

I am beyond excited for the hunt again!
Sinful Sunday

Mar 262015
 

“Ooohhh man, I look hot!” I had just gotten done getting laced up in my corset, and while I couldn’t breath, I actually had BOOBS for once. I, of course, considered this a fair trade off. I was out on a mission that night. There had been a man I’d been dancing around with and I was determined that he was coming home with me finally; I’m not famous for my patience.

This wasn’t my first corset, but I have to say it was the best one I’d ever owned. I have an hourglass figure to begin with, so my body was made for them. All dolled up, I was ready to head out.

The thing about corsets, especially those with steel boning, is that you can’t actually DO anything in them. Trying to sit and drive a car is a comical mixture of oxygen depravation, and choking on your newfound boobs. The hour drive to the party was uncomfortable to say the least. I won’t bore you with the party details I barely remember, but I can tell you my mission was a success!

Once I got my conquest home, I went into full sex kitten mode. One of my go to moves is kneeling at his feet and performing oral. There’s something powerful in the submission of the pose coupled with the ultimate power of having him in your mouth. My skirt had been discarded quickly upon our arrival at my home, so now it was just pretty lace boy shorts, and the corset. The view down with the corset pushing my breasts up to be viewed in the background I knew only spurred him on to greater arousal.

He couldn’t take my ministrations for long before he was pulling me to my feet and shoving my face into the bed. His hands were all over my body, almost tearing at my clothes in their haste and excitement. My panties came down my legs quickly and his fingers raced to my laces…

And stayed there. My roommate, being a cis male, is no expert in dressing women. However, he was the perfect candidate to help me get ready that night because I knew he could do my laces up tight. So with blind, verbal, instruction he had been the one to get me in my sexy outfit. Apparently his lacing skills are not matched with tying skills because the thing was knotted. Like, when you throw a bunch of delicate necklace chains in a jewelry box, knotted.

Time always seems to slow down in your head when you’re in a panic, but I can assure you that a real time of at least 3 minutes passed in the fruitless effort to get me unlaced. That’s a long time when you want nothing more than to be having hot, steamy, slightly awkward, first time sex with someone. He finally gave up the effort and spun me around.

That’s when we discovered that my roommate had done such a good job at lacing me that there just wasn’t any room to give to undo the hooks in the front. I was being squished around like grapes to wine to no avail. At this point I was so mortified my internal clock had combusted and I haven’t a clue how much time actually transpired, but it felt like eons. It’s a good thing I look good in red because my cheeks were on FIRE.

A quick inquiry as to scissors in my room had to be answered in the negative. The frustration in the room was just as palpable as the arousal of minutes before. In a somewhat disproportionate tone to the situation at hand I finally yelled out “fuck it, leave it on!”, flung myself back around and waved my ass in the air like a white flag of surrender to distract him from my clothing malfunction.

Luckily, my ass worked, it is quite large after all. The sex that followed wasn’t terribly noteworthy if I’m honest. At this point we both almost just wanted it over with. While we remained friends after the incident, neither of us made any moves to attempt any more sex with the other. The failure of the first time was too much to overcome. I did however learn a valuable lesson from the incident, and now keep paramedic sheers in my nightstand, which luckily I have never had occasion to use.

Kink of the Week

 Posted by at 1:49 pm
Mar 242015
 

WTH is she thinking?!

1. You have been asked to organize a sex & kink weekend. Will you be more of a “hands-on” person or more of an “ideas” person?

I could easily do both roles, though I’m sure my husband would prefer I be more of an “ideas” person – I would stay pretty busy no matter the role as I dive into things fully. This weekend my play card looks pretty full, and I’m hoping to fit him in (and if he orders it of course I will). Last weekend, and even this upcoming weekend, are kink filled and I have to say I’m always in awe of the planners (and a bit grateful I am not one). 

2. Assuming you are the hands-on type at this weekend sex romp, and you’ve entered a tent to ‘play’ with a male/female couple. Would you like to be given clear instructions before you begin to ‘play’ or do you prefer to be given the general idea of the task and work it out your own way.

I want instructions without being scripted. I want input. I want limits and boundaries, but this scenario isn’t anytime in my future – it doesn’t include my husband.

3. True or False. “During sex, I like to hear and accept feedback.”

Absolutely yes, true! Feedback is sexy!

4. What are you wearing right now?

Pajamas – the minute I got home from work I changed into pajamas.

5. I show loyalty to my lover by ________ .

Running things by him. And reassuring him that he is my first priority (okay, maybe second to my kids). 

6. Do you always have to argue?

Yes, it’s a natural occurrence to me if you were to ask my husband (and then he would turn around and say that we never argue – which is mostly true). That being said, people tell me I’m easy to get along with, so I can’t be that combative. I do not shy away from standing up for my beliefs, however. 

Bonus: Pick up the closest book to you, open it to page 55. The first line on that page reads: ________ .

“As a relative outsider with regard to American society, I suspected that the attitudes I saw in this meeting reflected deeper cultural assumption.” Mating in Captivity

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

Happy TMI Tuesday!

 Posted by at 4:38 pm
Mar 232015
 

According to Wikipedia: Exhibitionism is the act of exposing in a public or semi-public context those parts of one’s body that are not normally exposed – for example, the breasts, genitals or buttocks. The practice may arise from a desire or compulsion to expose themselves in such a manner to groups of friends or acquaintances, or to strangers for their amusement or sexual satisfaction or to shock the bystander.

I see them watching me, though they are out of focus to me – blurred edges and low background noise, he is my clear vision… and the rope.

Between the rope and him, they take turns being my focus, truly. The cold fabric brushing across my skin – his warm arms coming around, a sharp tug to keep my attention on the moment -a firm word that reminds me that I am his to do with as he wishes, stroking up my skin – the suddenness of a slap on skin brushed sensitive, snaking between my thighs – fingers subtly dipping between my lips for brief pleasure, teasingly taunt across my nipples – and then painfully pinched, even rope threatening across my throat for just the briefest moment as my head is manipulated for a passionate kiss.

The people watching are barely there, at the edge of my conscious when I have so many other pressing things to hold me spellbound. But I know they are there, watching.

I sense them leaning in or sitting more upright when I first come off the floor in a suspension, perhaps to get a better look at the ties – for those whose interest lays in the rope, perhaps to see if I am secure and nothing pulled the wrong way – for those whose purpose is safety, perhaps to those who have never seen a suspension – for those whose are new and marveling at possibilities, perhaps to those who know how the rope feels as it bites into flesh and holds the weight – for those who also share the experience, perhaps to find beauty in the art form – for those whose eyes appreciate such things, perhaps to those perving a naked body – now raised to a more appreciative viewpoint.

And then when he spins me (as he most often does), when he transitions me for one position to another, there tends to a be a low murmur of voices as conversations on technique, on fun, on dizzying or stability experiences occurs. This is barely penetrated by me, as I am now up and flying, as I am being manipulated and completely not in control of what occurs to me, as I am bound and wholly at his mercy in the air. As always, he shares the spotlight – the rope is truly biting and gripping and settling around me, cocooning and safe even its own painful reassurance.

But when his cleverness comes, that’s when I hear the gasps or the conversations – briefly as I then zone the people watching me out entirely. But still, their noises perk my ears, my brain registers that they are aware of something that I am not…yet. They may see the knife, extra ropes, the nipple clamps, the vibrator before I do. My vantage point is what he wills; I do not control even that. The predicaments that he puts me in, that make me damn myself with movement unless I do exactly as he sets me up to do:

clamps tugging at my nipples if I move my head – the rope ties hair and nipple clamps together – him asking so softly for a kiss until I forget myself and lean to obey, only to be brought up short by the bite at my nipples;

rope tied in a knot at my clit and strung tight so that if I need to adjust slightly to be more comfortable I feel it sharply pressing into my sensitive nub;

my ankles or my wrists strung in such a way that I maintain a rigid position or adjust to a painful reminder of the rope to keep maintaining my stance;

a buzzing between my legs that torments not just the sensitive exposed intimate zones of me, but also reverberate up and down the rope traveling across the rest of my skin.

They watch me, they chuckle at his cleverness or wickedness, they ponder what I will do next to escape one sensation to find myself in another, they rejoice or cringe at the pain or sensation that is brought upon me.

I am a marionette truly up in strings and I move exactly as he wills it, as the rope commands it.

He (and the rope) is the reason I am up here naked to begin with. I do not consider myself an exhibitionist, though nudity has never affected me – to either see it or be seen, though someone once suggested that I am an exhibitionist. I am unhampered by clothes because he cannot be bothered with the inconvenience of working around fabric – because the rope prefers bare skin. Because after being seen, there may be a conversation with another such as he and he may get new ideas, may learn from or teach another. For myself, I am always willing and eager to be seen because I want the experience.

What I’ve learned is that there is such a contrast of feelings about being exposed in this way; it makes me feel both vulnerable to be viewed, to have others watching me and quietly discussing, to be put on as a show, to be an object at times and a silly little human trying to still have some semblance of control when it is obvious I have none; and then there is strength in the surrender of control, in the acceptance of the bite and the wrappings of the rope, of the defiance in the predicament, of the thoughts streaming through my head of what I can do next, what I can manipulate in such a tiny space that is completely unnatural to my normal physical environment. I don’t get this duality of feelings in the safety of my home.

In my love for him, for the rope he binds me in, I find strength while leaving myself so vulnerable. It is freeing.

I am not sure that they ever notice that – but I see myself watching for it in others when I am the spectator of another’s scene.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 3:36 pm
Mar 192015
 
macro 006 compressed

Taken for a macro, but wasn’t quite close enough to be considered as such.

 

 

HNT is back (briefly). Originally as an idea on March 19th to say “fuck you” to Blogger and the threatening censorship days later, now it’s more of a victory celebration.

Here was our (first for HNT) contribution.

 Posted by at 7:22 am  Tagged with:
Mar 172015
 

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

pot of gold and rainbow_tmi
1. You found your pot o’ gold. How much is in the pot? What will you do with your gold?

The pot is endless, which is good because I have no specific plan in mind besides not worrying about my family’s livelihood but would also eventually want to make sure no one worried either.

2. Some things get better with age, have you? What specifically has gotten better?

I have definitely gotten a lot better with age, mostly because I am more comfortable with being who I really am and my desires. Sure, some things are not as good – right now I’m pretty stressed and don’t care about my fitness level and weight like I normally do (and it shows), and sometimes I find myself too busy to properly do the domestic stuff on the weekends, but overall, I’m happier and more confident.

3. Are you above average or below average?

Below average on height, common sense, domestic abilities, patience. Above average on intelligence, reading, sex drive, adventuresome spirit. 

I really dislike vague questions.

4. What was the last romantic act you did for someone? Did they appreciate it?

I made a list of 20+ reasons why I loved him. He was okay with it; I make him little love notes all the time, so he’s constantly positively reinforced on my reasons for loving him.

I’m not romantic much, he’s more the romantic. I do believe that showing appreciation and gratitude is important to do daily in my life, however. 

5. Think back to your very last argument, whose fault was it?

So easy: it’s always  him. He’ll even admit it 9 out of our 10 arguments. I don’t really argue much, unless I’m fairly confident I’m getting upset for a worthwhile reason.  Recently, he has so much on his mind that he forgets our conversations – a very frustrating fact for me, and goes against what we’ve previously agreed upon.

Bonus: I have an overactive imaginationThis makes me think the worst or have too high expectations, gives me insomnia, and come up with fantastical stories (which sadly I don’t take the time to write most of the time). 

I also would equally say that I have an overactive sex drive, as it drives me nuts at times and certainly makes me demanding of any sexual partner. 

————

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

Happy TMI Tuesday!