Dec 312017
 

I haven’t done much this year, especially since April when depression finally crippled my creativity (and it did before then, I just limped along on drafts until April). Still, here’s my top 5 with stats from this year.

Search Terms of the Year and where I think it takes people:

Cammies on the Floor 

Make Her Famous

My Best Orgasm

Sybian

Trying Anal

 

Top Posts:

Home Page – does this count?

Feeling Forced

Cut and Ripped

Sybian

Sex Show

 

Top Categories of what I’ve used: 

Pictures

Writing Prompt

Bondage

Sinful Sunday

Complication

 

Referrers:

Search Engines

Twitter

Reddit

Sinful Sunday

Masturbation Monday

 

I refer most to:

Malflic

Twitter

Sinful Sunday

Masturbation Monday

Molly’s Daily Kiss

 

Commenters – thank you!!!:

Marie Rebelle

Bee

Silverdom

LittleSwitchBitch

Elliott Henry

 

Countries that view:

United States

United Kingdom

Australia

Canada

Germany

 

My views have been cut in third this year due to lack of writing. 

Wicked WednesdayThe prompt for this week is gadgets, and stats for the blog have always been the most fascinating for me. Truly, I dislike learning new technology and don’t own many gadgets. Click the rainbow to find out what gets people going with gadgets.

Dec 292017
 
Sinful Sunday
I like to play with clothespins with him, most often while I’m teasing him with my mouth, body, hands.

In this particular case, I believe it was more innocent. I clasped the clothespins on his side, straddled his hips, and massaged his back. I made my thighs dug in extra hard at times, hurting my own skin the process of torturing him with the little wooden clamps.

*apparently UK people call this a peg

Dec 272017
 

Midnight at the Oasis writes a memory and it’s gorgeous storytelling.

Amazing celebration of the winter body by Hannah likes dirty words.

It’s not the first time he’s written about a reaction to a picture; I love The Life of Elliott’s reactions.

*I had scheduled this for Saturday but then saw the prompt. I’ll add Wicked Wednesday badge when I get a free moment (can’t figure out how to do this from a phone).

Dec 222017
 

https://pixabay.com/en/winter-snow-white-landscape-tree-3009041/

Gorgeous, but freezing. That was the landscape and that was them. Perhaps they were crazy for agreeing to be naked in the snow, and the fact that they both hated the cold, made them tense up when they needed to be fluid and flexible.

Still they trudged along, and gazed at the winter wonderland of the glistening pristine white scenery, even as the snow covered ground made hiking treacherous with hidden rocks and roots below the fluffy, powdery whiteness. It would be a beautiful contrast to the naked skin at least.

They stopped where the air felt thin at the high altitude; they could see their breaths puff in a heated mist in front of their faces.  There was a gnarled tree that seemed to defy the odds, growing atop a large boulder that the wind would not let the snow rest on. The snow was stark white everywhere else with the tree line thinned at the crest and the backdrop view of the mountains was breathtaking – or perhaps that was the chill that seemed to rob them of their breath.

He gave gruff orders as he dropped his pack and took out rope, made even more muffled through his scarf protecting his face. They would have no such protection, hestiantly glanced into each others eyes to see if they dared before they bared their poor skin to the elements. Almost instinctively, they moved close to each other and held arms out to wrap around. He worked the knots around quickly, pressed their bodies even closer together. Soft breasts mashed and created a heated seal, yet still they were aware of each other’s hardened nipples.

“Cold or excited?” one whispered to the other, not wanting to penetrate noise too deeply into the otherwise silence. The rope zinged around itself and whipped her a few times in the momentum, she flinched but was grateful for the speed as that meant that they would be done and dressed sooner.

She realized this whole thing would feel like a race, though she was sure the pictures would come out more serene.

“Both,” was the whispered reply as the other bent down and the hot breath washed against the first’s neck; she laid a gentle kiss, careful to not leave any moisture on the skin as the cold would focus an attack there. The first woman tilted slightly in welcome and it was all the encouragement she needed to continue kissing a bit more intently.

The first woman shivered, though from the kiss or the cold she was unsure. The man continued his work around them, stretched the first woman’s wrists above her head on the branch, her skin was covered in goose bumps and prickled from the chill. The second woman, only being tied to her from the waist down, leaned back a little to cover a nipple in her hot mouth. The nipple felt like it was on fire in sharp contrast, pinpricks of fire melting down her belly and gathering in excitement between her legs.

He had to navigate around them in strange positions to balance between the boulder and the tree with rope being thrown, but did not try to prevent their play. Before the second woman knew it, she was spread out slightly below the first woman, their bodies still touching though her mouth was nowhere near the delectable breast she had just been warming, more towards a knee. Face to face, or knee to face as it more happened to be, the first woman dipped down as far as she could, her lips barely grazing the lower thigh in her bondage to the tree. Still, her lips grazed and she breathed teasingly on the cold skin.

They were not aware of the camera clicks, the whole purpose for this trip, they were too busy trying to explore a new terrain in testing bindings. The second woman craned her neck as far as it would go, though was unable to duplicate the heated mouth on her partner’s thigh.

Like a marionettist, he pulled ropes and limbs and created a story based on the inclinations of the marionettes, careful to move them in the cold, keeping parts that were dangling without heat pressed next to each other in the next shot, worked swiftly but concisely.

He quickly tied rope around the second woman’s waist and between her legs, spreading her lips within reach of the first woman’s, curious if it would be welcomed; he moved quickly to take a picture in case he had to move them.

The second woman was was surprised that as it slid between her folds she felt turned on, despite it hurting slightly in his haste and roughness. She felt incredibly vulnerable; the ice moved in further, and it stung, though suddenly lips and breath chased away the chill and replaced it with warmth at her entrance. Suddenly, her body’s focus gravitated towards that warmth and heat seemingly seeped through her torso.

Eventually, despite the heat and flirtatious tension between the women, the icy chill worked against the rope and their bodies, the ice seeped between them despite the intimately close angles.

“When we are done, I’m sure we’ll feel the snowy air, but we will make it melt with our bodies,” the second woman promised as she was first to be put down on the ground and go towards the clothes warmed by the heated packets in her bag. She disliked that they would have to wait to finish the promise until they got into a warm house, but she was looking forward to the contrasting heat they were bound to create. Hurriedly, she bundled enough to wrap her soon-to-be lover in heated clothing as she too came down from the ropes.

*Read the prompt and it reminded me of this story, rewritten differently around the concept of being tied in the snow for a photo

Dec 212017
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI am very orgasm hungry, I think it rules my drive more than the wanting sex (unless I’m ovulating, that trumps anything).

I am incredibly lucky that I orgasm easily, it lends itself to how greedy, how needy I can be. The first orgasm is the longest work and hardest to maintain – it is also often the weakest. All it does is feed my craving for another. My body is tenser, tighter, wanting and willing to work towards the second orgasm – which is always just on the horizon, easy to view and not hard to slide into.

The catch, of course, is that the second orgasm makes it easier to come harder and faster. And the third makes me far more greedy than the first. On and on my body goes, wanting the next – it’s not always that the subsequent ones are harder nor even better, fireworks do not suddenly explode in orgasm splendor; but the more that I orgasm, the easier it is for me to reach another one. When every nerve is sensitive and feels pleasurable, it’s a challenge to not pursue that pleasure.

It’s also why I can orgasm in such a multiple of ways: after the first one through what almost always needs to be obtained by penetration, other avenues to orgasm open up. I have come from just rubbing between my lips, from anal stimulation (or sex), from nipples, from pain like spanking, or slapping, from fist thrumming against my butt or thighs, the knuckles sinking through muscles and hitting what feels like bone.

I have orgasmed from soft sensations like feathers or sheets, from cold sensations like fans or even cold porcelain, from heat like melted wax or a hot breath pressed just right against my hot skin and brushing its way past more sensitive zones.

Teeth, something I normally don’t appreciate on myself, feel amazing as they sink into my skin at the climax. I become rougher in my pursuit of pleasure, more aggressive, my hips thrust up, I squeeze the person involved, my nails or teeth dig in to the point of marking. I beg, I plead, I become desperate to hit the next wave that is always just a sensation away. I sweat, I moan, I grunt – there is nothing sexy or coy about me at this point, I looked wrecked, flushed red and blotchy in places since I am curse to be pale – even my skin tells the tale of my madness.

I can have a moment’s respite, a person can promise to not make me come anymore, but a glance of their fingertips, a breath washing across my skin, and I am primed and pumped for the smallest touch to make me melt and meld all over again. It’s why I can seem tireless one minute in the chase of an orgasm and asleep after a moment’s respite.

I can also have after quakes of orgasms, my muscles inside so clenched that they rub against themselves  and create the friction needed, or suddenly the tension releases and the relaxation of the muscles inside make me shiver in a tiny pleasurable way.

But here is why I think that I am more orgasm driven than sex driven – I don’t need sex to be in this condition. Fingers, a toy, a mouth will work just as well – and even that may just be for the first or second only as I need the penetration.

Also, I can go for months without sex or masturbation and not be bothered in the slightest, as shown during my time as a military spouse separated from my husband – it didn’t mean that I didn’t miss him or miss pleasure, but I didn’t need it, and if he wasn’t around, didn’t feel the urge to pursue an orgasm (only exception was again when I was ovulating strongly, then I masturbated for the day or two).

This works well if, in my relationship dynamic, a boundary is no sex – as was the case with Mimir and is with The Wanderer.

There is a negative to this, however; I am more vulnerable, more agreeable, less verbal, less rational and more easily manipulated after multiple orgasms. It’s why orgasm play – where the goal is multiple orgasms – tends to be something I won’t engage in unless I trust the person. I also appreciate how eventually my partner(s) stop – whether they are tired or they deem I am, as with more orgasms I am less likely to be aware that I need a break, that my body is sore or dehydrated.

Nov 282017
 

https://pixabay.com/en/legs-theatre-cabaret-building-2144697/

To be, or not to be the school girl was the question of the night. I stared at the skirt in my hands and let my eyes drift over to the Mary Jane stripper heels, before rolling them at the whole scenario. I’ve always prided myself on being open sexually and game to try anything, but I didn’t know if I could pull this one off.

Random A fun fact: I don’t usually go beyond two or three different phrases in the heat of sex talk. The reason being, I think I sound very, very special, and not the OMG-look-at-her-take-that-whole-banana special, more like the I-confused-snack-foods-for-my-vagina special (see Twitter). So this then has me limiting myself to a few key phrases I have grown comfortable saying.

This obviously doesn’t lend itself to being a genius sexy-kitten role player. So, with visions of him thinking he is fucking William Shatner in a plaid skirt, I was a bit apprehensive to fulfill this particular fantasy. This is when my real acting skills shine. I could charm the pants off of a nun, so I quickly started trying to come up with ways and excuses not to do this.

So far the only go-to move I could come up with was to just be naked and waiting, and get his dick inside of my mouth as quickly as possible. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the lack of pigtails and super itchy skirt. In a mild, sarcastic panic for a bit, I indulged the fantasies of pleading illness or insanity (I call it the snack food defense), before coming to grips that I had to at least try.

Sigh. He’d indulged the things I wanted to try, and the nightmare of getting all of that honey out of his chest hair meant that I owed it to him to at least attempt the school girl thing. On went the white knee highs which I couldn’t help but admire sliding over my smooth, tan legs. Naughty red lace thong gracing the ample ass I’d come to love, that blasted skirt….

Ruby red lips in a nervous smile and a slight fidget greeted him as he came in the door. His eyes lit up in appreciation as he took in the sight of me, and my body relaxed. William Shatner or no, I knew we were going to have a great time together. He came over to take me in his arms and I made some coy remark about “Oh Mr. So-and-So! What are you doing!?” because it was his fantasy and he was breaking the rules.

It was bad… The only thing missing was the dramatic hand placed against my forehead and the fluttering of my lashes. He laughed. A lot. I laughed. Role playing just wasn’t something I was ever going to be good at, but laughter during sex I can handle.

He tumbled me to the bed, and I am grateful to say, the rest of the evening was just “Let’s fuck A with a plaid skirt on and try to avoid getting stabbed with the stripper heels” instead of the Shakespearean acting session I had been dreading all day.

Sometimes, as long as you try, the failed attempts at kink can be just as hot and fulfilling as those you can do like a pro.

April 24, 2013