Mar 212017

I love storms. Every time it rains I have all the windows open and am most often sitting the doorway to the outside, watching it, listening to it, smelling and connecting as much as I can. I am surprised I haven’t lost my love of storms.

My tempest.

From solitude to engulfed in booms – the varying patterns of this shift are frightful at times.

There’s no place to go in a thunderstorm to escape it; I can push myself further out into the storm or take very little comfort in the return a house that offers no solace. It is not silent and it cannot be drowned out yelling for it to stop.

A thunderstorm is loud, powerful, demands attention, to be heard.

I seek warmth amid the warning winds: want to be touched and possessed, feel the gliding against my body; with lightning as a companion I light up. My body and my mind crave that delight of visual and utterance.

Where otherwise there may be soft silence, I feel awake and ignited with the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning.

The thunder rolls and sometimes a small shake in the ground can even be perceived in the ground. I can look up and see nothing. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. It signals a downpour, body feels just a drop or two and then suddenly water pours from the sky.  I can feel myself getting soaked, the lightning exposing far more than the tips of the trees swaying violently, little hidden amid storm. The rain pounds down to the earth, becomes a very deep awareness that fills every sense, the thunder creates a shudder and a groan. My heartbeat will pound to the eruption. The crepuscular does not confuse me, it is a language heard and felt through every nerve, rendered violent but mesmerized with dark erotic fantasies. I am left humble by how it provokes a physical reaction, perceived darkness that demands attention far more than shadowed whispers. I will feel goose bumps along my skin, and my own body tremors slightly. Still, the thundered rolls, but it becomes a background noise so far away, more of a relaxing soothing background sound.

I like things that take, that demand, that awaken, that can be felt everywhere; I like the signal of what’s to come, the roar of it as its there, and the echo that it leaves behind.

Jan 262017

I agree with those that feel that a safe word is not needed, that no and stop should be exactly that.

I also agree with those that feel that a safe word is needed, that they don’t want their no and stop to always mean that.

I also realized that I need to be clear where I stand. I used to be the second option – I wanted the struggle, my instinct when something hurts is to say no and stop, but I can continue and I want my partner to push me.

I learned a very hard lesson in the complications of this negotiated use of safe words when I felt like I was forced anally, but he expected me to use my safe word.

“First and foremost, while my safeword did not occur to me, I did have one. My ex truly expected me to use it… I believe that he expected me to safeword if I felt that strongly about “no” after talking to him months later. And I truly did not even think about using a safeword, felt like my “no” and “stop” were enough; after all – just the day prior we discussed needing the safeword before a scene. I didn’t use a safeword with him just having sex with him – never felt that was needed.

Perhaps this is a horrible complication with using safewords, when stop and no don’t always mean stop and no.” – Consent with Anal

My ex and I did discuss safe words before every scene that we felt it was needed – and only the scenes that included impact (or our one time doing consensual non consent). Even in rope I didn’t use a safe word but gave a time that I needed out (even if it was immediately). So I understand why I did not think to safe word, we were just having sex, after all. I also understand why he felt that I would safe word – I do have and use my safe word and he trusted me in that.

So now I’m on the fence with safe words. I still use them, and I’ve been trying to get Mr. Texas to use them. I really like the “yellow” for change up or no further, and the “red” for can’t take anymore. I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.

My ex husband should have known mine, should have listened. But we are equally to blame for that scenario.

I still want my no and stop to not mean no and stop when I feel like struggling or fighting back, it is so hot to me that I will be held down or my cries will be ignored. It is also reassuring to me that my safe word will be respected, that I have a safe word.

But I need to start being more consistent with using my safe word, even if I am just having sex, because just having sex is very easily turned into something else once we’re naked and having fun. I need to not view sex as an activity isolated from BDSM, because it is not, and it rarely ever is just sex with me.

I can easily view how I am inconsistent: The Wanderer would never have to worry about me not coloring and using my safe word – we have a clear boundary of no intercourse and a partnership that’s foundation is BDSM. Neither would anyone that I played with in a dungeon or other kink event. Mr. Texas, however, may have to worry if he pushed for something I didn’t want to do – and that’s incredibly unfair to him; but I view us as having a sexual relationship first, exploring each other in BDSM second – and BDSM being new to him especially he needs to read other cues and listen to words (to an extent – he already has figured out my no rarely means no but I like the protest).

I am confusing as hell about using my own safe word and that isn’t fair to my sexual partner. I have learned that I cannot rely, either, on my partner and I consistently using a safe word only in certain scenes (like impact or consensual non consent).

It is up to me to clearly define and use my safe word to my partners, and to be consistent.

Aug 212016

Masturbation Monday badge - small

On Twitter, as part of my independent self love goal, I wrote about not completing a task and forgiving myself for that. I was given a last minute (an hour) order to accomplish something and didn’t; I later told him I needed understanding and to keep in mind that it’s fair to ask 24 hour notice. While he agreed that there would be no punishment, and gave me a more simple task I could complete last minute (see picture), he will be “keeping in mind” that I didn’t do it as he asked last time. Yikes!

Tasks are something that I view as being very specific to power dynamics, and something that can be considered almost a to-do list. I don’t view tasks as something that is said in the moment (unless the scene is laid out) – they have to be thought of prior, and in my own experience have a deadline or time set aside.

A recent task I was given

In this regard, with this definition, I have only engaged in tasks with my husband – though I’m sure truly it could be applied to perhaps two other people, but with them power dynamics have been more present but not fully established. It is unquestionable to me that I obey my husband’s commands when it comes to sex and kink (granted that means that a safe word is still applicable and that my hard limits are respected). He also tends to push my comfort levels with tasks – visual in some regard, masturbation being the top requested thing (even during our scenes).

His tasks are almost always while we are separated, as he is a visual person and misses the sight of me, not to mention this is a way for him to continue our power dynamics while we aren’t close to each other – a reminder I need quite a bit of as I’m naturally more dominant in personality. I’ve written about some tasks he will give me:

“I want a picture…you will get dressed in your stockings we got you I like, with your crotchless panties, and take pictures. I want a couple of pictures of you playing with yourself and then in child’s pose. If you are feeling real frisky take your new plug and put it in, pull your underwear to expose yourself while in child’s pose, and take that picture. This may be hard to do but you can use your phone timer, or something, I am sure you can figure it out. Only need to send one picture, you can send more, but I think they will turn out good and we can use them for later [for the blog].”

He’s never before been so specific, so detailed, nor has he ever demanded a photo. In the past, he only hinted or suggested I take one for him.

I think this reflects that he is aware of more of what he likes and wants.

I think this also reflects that gradual change that has occurred in our relationship – he’s more dominant overall nowadays. – Tasks

When he got home some months later, he used a video he ordered me to make and had me watch it while we had sex. This was a hard task for me: for one, I struggle to keep my eyes open, for another I dislike how I look – the reason he had me watch: he told me how sexy he found me and how it turned him on, seeking for me to view myself more positively. (Watch)

Videos are challenging for me, and one of his favorite things, so I get video tasks quite often. I dislike doing them, they are out of my comfort zone, and yet I am excited that he likes them. If I didn’t receive positive affirmation, I may not do them at all (last time was a lukewarm response that I’m sifting through some emotions with – believing that it’s my own emotions versus his).

Because videos are such a challenge, I find loopholes all the time, and he is learning those loopholes. An example would be when he told me to wear something sexy, and I wore a flannel because I found that sexy; though I did give him one hell of a strip dance – another request for that particular task and one that made me feel mutinous. He also knows exactly when I will balk, and has learned that the consequence has to up the ante. The last time I became too busy to complete a task, there was a severe consequence that I am not anxious to repeat (this time he also picked out my clothes so that I would wear something he found sexy), though the my punishment was incredibly hot.

Even though we switch in our marriage, the power dynamics are firmly established when the switch takes place. If I am in charge and he tries to pull rank, I don’t put up with it and his body often feels my displeasure. He hates pain and it really isn’t part of our scenes where I dominate him, “When I increased the sensations in roughness, I also took less care of tenderness – kissing him less, manhandling him more. When he would try to move away from a sensation, my hand was around his neck or my elbows were digging into a pressure point to keep him still, with a warning that he soon heeded to stay still and work through accepting the sensations” (Pegging Again). My elbows tend to be pretty accurate and get the point across on a physical level that I am in charge.

I use tasks most often to dominate him, a handy tool I learned a couple years ago after many failed attempts to give him a scene that he envisioned but couldn’t verbalize, “I…do what I do best: I made a list of what I needed and what I was planning – though the planned part was vague so that he didn’t understand… I threw him the list. ‘Complete each one, wait before completing another as I have a task you need to do in between each step.'” (Lists will save me). 

Some tasks I’ve given him are:

  • cleaning out a wax warmer to put in massage wax (because I was lazy)
  • fingering me to orgasm
  • tying my velcro ties around the bed for his height
  • edging himself
  • finding items for the scene (again, lazy)
  • making me orgasm through sex a certain number of times without cumming
  • putting me in my strap on harness (I just need help with adjustments, but I make him do all the work).

I will also give him some video/phone/writing tasks while we are long distance. These are mostly so I can seek to understand something; for instance, I just recently asked him to think about and explain why he made the comment that I am not a hard enough bottom and that he may find our level of play unsatisfactory long term, also what kind of hard play he was referring to missing and what he got out of it. The comment hurt me, but I tried to understand what he was saying, and not putting my own feelings and implying it to his intention. When I ask for a masturbation video with specifics, I am looking for what he finds hot/sexy/how he touches and when.

So tasks are about power dynamics and firmly establishing/reaffirming them, but also to show care, support, and seek understanding. And then sometimes, they’re just hot and fun and filthy and wonderful.

Except for the rare exceptions, all of the tasks so far between the two of us tend to be incredibly masturbation-worthy.

Jul 192016

I had my first orgasm at noon; I had my last orgasm at midnight. There was only perhaps a couple of hours broken up in between all of that. For those that know how easily and how hard I orgasm, that’s quite a day of a lot of orgasms.

Far, far too many orgasms. It was ridiculously easy to get me to orgasm as the night went on.

In the day, I met a man (Tech Talk) that I went out on a few dates with. It was our first time kissing, so why not move it to our first time fucking as well? He is a very sweet man who is interested and incredibly open minded about kink. We had discussed boundaries and limits dates prior to this and the path was laid out on which directions I could go.

So, I gave him some small tastes of kink. I began by giving him different sensations. My fingers swept softly, my nails raked angry red trails down his body. My mouth kissed gently, sucked, nibbled a lot, and then once I realized he had a high pain threshold – bit roughly everywhere; he had already shared that he liked to be bit. Silk fabric caressed up and down parts of his body before blindfolding him. I took a Wartenberg Wheel to him, tiny little pinpricks of marks across his skin which he handled so well that I pressed deeply into his skin and blazed intermittent dotted pieces like those in the center of a road showing the trail I traveled for days across his skin.

He kept complimenting me, saying how rare and unusual I was, how exciting, how he scored himself a hot woman, how lucky he was. He complimented my body, my touch, my mouth. He claimed that I was absolutely amazing at giving head.

And then it was his turn to do things to me. He went down on me for so long that I orgasmed, then he fingered me to a few more orgasms. He stretched on a condom and entered me, missionary for just a moment and then around to hands and knees behind me, then laying down completely on my back. He complimented how I felt while pushing for orgasm after orgasm (which was ridiculously easy after going down on me for so long).

We became a sweaty mess  who both claimed that we needed a nap after we were finally done. But I had places to go, so I cleaned up and left him…

…Onto the dungeon.

Where after a negotiation, I had two people co top me, with no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks, no blood or needle play, but name calling and lighter impact were fine…unless I orgasm. That last part was from an off hand comment that I can take more from an orgasm. (Honestly, I didn’t think I would orgasm while there because of the no penetration rule – I didn’t take into account how my body was already sensitive from the orgasms before I arrived at the dungeon.)

As the man came in with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a hitachi. I said maybe, and that I would think on it. So when the man slapped at my vulva and got the rhythm that I could orgasm even without penetration, it was because I was already primed for pleasure from earlier in the day. He was downright gleeful when he denied me an orgasm that way and I so badly wanted it that I was ready to cry for one. The day had made my body so ridiculously ready to climax.

I ended up agreeing to a hitachi. He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the loud buzzing was no match for my moans as the toy so quickly overwhelmed my body and granted me the orgasm that I wanted. He discovered that I could multiple, with one orgasm crashing in on another. The vibrations of a wand are the closest I ever get to coloring, and yet I either arch to press myself further against or squirm to get away from it – he was having none of shifting away and the toy throbbed all the more harder against my lips. I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in, which provided a short but painful break to breathe but not lessening my volume as I groaned when contact was made. There could have been a room full of people, and so caught up in receiving either pleasure or pain, I could’ve cared less.

It was during this point that he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. I did try but ended up looking at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.

Afterwards, we all stayed where we were for a bit while I drifted back to reality and got dressed. Then we went into the kitchen area and visited with other people. He looked across the table from me after some time passed and said that he wanted to play again.

So off we went, with the Hitachi and his hands and his words, where I orgasmed until the dungeon closed. Fortunately, he is the one who closes up so I didn’t feel pressured to run out the door – he even walked me to my vehicle.

Twelve hours of orgasms, where one moment set the pace and the path for so many more to be enjoyed over and over again in different ways. I never would have believed my body was so capable of sustaining that many in one day.

*This is the third of seven posts from this one day:Wicked Wednesday

To read the negotiation and beginning play, click here.

To read about more details during orgasming with these awesome two, click here.

Jul 062016

I think a lot of things kneeling, but most of it is not for D/s as I’ve never really experienced that dynamic.

What first comes to my mind is kneeling so that I can take him in my mouth. Soft where deep throating is easy, where I feel the blood engorge his shaft on my tongue and begin to block my throat as I suck to keep him as deep; or hard already where my hand will help his bobbing member, my lips parting and then protecting from teeth, my tongue swirling along the ridges and veins, my throat relaxing and opening to take more of his length. Kneeling so that I can hear his noises that it feels good, that I continue, that he is cumming (god, I love it when a man announcing he will cum right before he does). Kneeling while he pulses and throbs, as his salty passion spills upon my tongue and down my throat.

I kneel next often for doggy style, or some variation of that. On hands and knees so that he can finger fuck me, rim me, or where he can slowly insert a plug into my back hole. On hands and knees where he grabs my hips and slams his pelvis against me, my hands needed for balance as we go hard and fast, the head of his cock hitting a wall deep inside of me. Or his favorite of my bottom up and chest down, a kinky child’s pose, one where he can be so deep inside of me and that rubs all the right ways. Perhaps his thumb or a finger will rub at the entrance of my back hole – after all I am utterly exposed there this way.

IMG_6277I kneel to ride him and admittedly I am getting a bit better at this. I have short legs so kneeling isn’t always effective, but I try and at least slide him into my body in this position before I change over to squatting over him, and my knees scrape the sheets as I rock back and forth, grinding down hard upon his cock.

I kneel to masturbate sometimes. For him, it might be for his viewing pleasure as I do a strip tease, my thighs spreading even further to lower myself as my fingers tease where he can see. For myself, I may kneel after I’ve positioned my wand with an attachment propped up on a pillow, where I can comfortable ride the vibrations until I orgasm so intensely that I am out of breath and the attachment is covered white from my cream.

I rarely kneel in deference of submission or to show that he is of a higher status. Though admittedly, he could request this of me at certain times and I would, high on sub space and orgasms.

Kneeling can be taxing on my knees, the poor skin rubbed raw by sheets or carpet burn, or just sore by a hard floor (showers most often come to mind for this). But I am more than capable of kneeling, and do so for the most pleasant reasons.

May 082016

Masturbation Monday badge - smallWhen did you first start masturbating?

I didn’t masturbate until I was in my twenties and long after being sexually active.

Do you like to use sex toys when you masturbate?

Absolutely, my favorite toy is my Lelo vibrator because I haven’t been able to break it yet (though I can tell it’s not going to last much longer). 

Does masturbation feature in your relationship? Is watching your partner getting off is seriously hot or something that makes you uncomfortable, alternatively how do you feel about being watched?

I love to watch a man masturbate, but I absolutely hate to masturbate in front of someone. I’ve only done this in front of one boyfriend, my ex husband, and Mimir, and that was after knowing and being with them for a long period of time. I am unsure of the hang up on this, but it’s there. 

What do you think about when you masturbate? Is there a favourite, orgasm guaranteed, fantasy that you like to think about when you are reaching between your thighs? Do you like to watch porn, or maybe you prefer the stimulation of the written word?


The hand around my throat would stay there even after I orgasmed on the cross at his command, and he would lean down and kiss me again. Suddenly his warm lips and demanding tongue wouldn’t be there and I would feel the sting across my cheek, too shocked to offer protest, all the sudden feeling like I am no longer human but an object to him on the cross. After a long moment, I would feel his hand on my cheek again, and with one hand still around my throat, the offending hand would be between my thighs, drenched with my own juices, the skin so swollen and sensitive from the stinging slaps there, and fingers would thrust and wrench another orgasm from me, my thighs dripping from the force, muscles shaking and quivering, knees threatening to buckle as I stood there gushing.” – Rough Fantasy (Feb 2015)

“Orgasm denial… something that seriously turns me all the while frustrating me at the same time.**I haven’t had any of these experiences, these are four separate dreams or fantasies that I’ve had this last week.” – Rope and Denial Fantasy (March 2015)


after many orgasms already, I was on my hands and knees, my boyfriend laying underneath me, his hands wrapped around my thighs, his gifted tongue between my legs. He had his tongue and lips pierced and the metal would add harder sensations amidst soft lips and wet tongue. I squirmed away as much as possible, so overloaded on pleasure and overly sensitive. Every grazing of his mouth or tongue would shoot sparks of pleasure deep into my pussy and create a tighten that would add up quickly to another orgasm. His arms wrapped tighter on my thighs, his hands gripped and pushed me further upon his mouth.

My husband grabbed my throat, looked me in the eyes and told me to hold me still, his eyes a steady calm gaze in a passion filled fogged to my own, his mouth kissing mine as another man’s mouth kissed between my legs. When it became too intense, when I felt I was too sensitive and began squirming once again, his one arm wrapped like a vice around my body, the other around my neck and head, and his mouth by my ear whispered to cum. It was one of the first times I obeyed a command, though my boyfriend’s mouth was creating such pleasure that listening to that order was simple.

It was a perfect moment, as I was swept up in a storm of sensations that began to engulf me to the point where I was ready to call for a stop, when his voice, his calm, anchored me and made me feel safe to become so carried away.

The utter control of both men, the complete fixation on my pleasure, them working so beautifully together for that experience, that is something that I masturbated to for quite awhile.” – Something I Masturbated to for Awhile

For the most part, I will be in the mood maybe once a month when I’m ovulating or when I’m looking at tumblr and I start to see consensual non consent gifs appear (this always gets me in the mood as it’s a fantasy of mine). Words can turn me on far more than anything else, however. 

Mar 212016

*Trigger warning of rape play

Mr Texas, my new guy, is ridiculously sweet and old fashioned…and a tad clingy. He knows he needs to tread carefully in that aspect of his personality, as it really clashes with mine.

He is a great father and has a few kids. He drives this massive suburban, black, with the windows tinted.

We kissed goodnight in the dark as I walked him to his car. “I should just throw you in the car and take you with me,” he whispered into the darkness as he pulled away from the kiss.

I gripped him harder and said against his chest, “yes, you should tie me tightly, throw me in the back, kidnap me and fuck me hard.”

I peered up into his face and the moonlight showed shocked. He hugged me to him. “I never know what you’re going to say,” he laughed. I knew he would never do something like that, I knew that my statement surprised him.

With his arms around me, my mind drifted to someone else. Someone a month ago, who as a parting gift, gave me my fantasy of consensual non consent. He appears in my thoughts unbidden, being held in the arms of another man.

…His arm whipped around my neck and I was thrown back onto the bed.

The force of this made my jaw hurt for weeks afterwards. Also, my legs were very bruised as they are my biggest asset in fighting back, and I did. That was the point.

…At one point, I kicked against him and kicked myself right off the bed. His long arm reached down and dragged me up by the hair. “Go the fuck to sleep,” he growled with a hand around my throat as my nails dug in for all of a second before I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was in the center of the bed and there was a pressure between my legs as he ripped his favorite pair of lace panties.

The beautiful lace panties – his favorite pair – being torn to shreds, seemed incredibly symbolic to me. “Hope you don’t want these anymore,” he said as he ripped. Those panties would have served as a reminder of how he desired me every time I put them on. No, I probably didn’t want that reminder anymore. After our session, I threw the tattered lace in the trash and never saw them again.

…He forced my thighs apart and held down my body, both of our harsh and ragged breathing the only sound.

But we stopped at that point, he didn’t have an erection in trying to force me. Whether from exhaustion of the actual struggle we both seriously engaged in or the concept being so foreign to his nature, he simply couldn’t get hard. We were both out of breath and just held each other amid the gasping.

“You were holding back,” he accused me once he could talk again. I looked at him, at his fat lip and bruises, and nodded. How could I truly hurt a man that I loved so deeply and desperately?

Though I could give him some bumps and bruises along the way; it was bound to happen as part of the journey.

 Posted by at 1:21 pm
Jan 142016

My first kiss was with an asshole. He still was one hell of a kisser though. It was the first time I felt a stirring of horniness. We were laying on the carpet in a room, and he was pressed fully on top of me. My knees kept wanting to bend – whether to further embrace him or relieve some pressure on my lower back I can’t remember – he kept pushing my knees down. It was a short relationship – that may have been the only time I kissed him.


My husband’s and mine first kiss took place in the parking lot in front of a casino. It was a chaste kiss – no tongue, we were just friends, and he picked me up until I was eye level to him. I wrapped my legs around his waist for added support, smiled at him, and leaned down and gave him a small kiss on his luscious lips. It took all of a second.


The minute I knew we were no longer just friends was when his breath washed over my sensitive skin, washed away my reservations, as we cuddled in a bed one night. We were drinking with the sleeping sun, joking and talking as close friends do. Then he leaned in close, swept my hair aside, and just breathed. My neck betrayed the erotic pulse beat beneath the exposed skin. Bold suddenly which was unlike him, he leaned in and those plump lips grazed the pulse, tongue tentatively dipped and tasted my heartbeat which was forever his afterwards. All my nerve endings came from where he kissed.

The the first move, the first real reaching out sexually, and the fact that he was so shy and still started it surprised us both.

I moaned, pressed against his mouth, let it melt and meld my inhibitions. I rolled over and pressed my lips to his, this time my tongue dived in his mouth and became the aggressor, plundered. My hands and legs wrapped around him, closing any division between us. It was his turn to be surprised. (Breaking Walls)


A threesome years ago created a hot moment. My husband grabbed my throat, looked me in the eyes and told me to hold me still, his eyes a steady calm gaze in a passion filled fogged to my own, his mouth kissing mine as another man’s mouth kissed between my legs.

It was during a moment that I had already had so many orgasms that I was beginning to want to stop due to being overwhelmed.

I was on my hands and knees, my boyfriend laying underneath me, his hands wrapped around my thighs, his gifted tongue between my legs. He had his tongue and lips pierced and the metal would add harder sensations amidst soft lips and wet tongue. I squirmed away as much as possible, so overloaded on pleasure and overly sensitive. Every grazing of his mouth or tongue would shoot sparks of pleasure deep into my pussy and create a tighten that would add up quickly to another orgasm. His arms wrapped tighter on my thighs, his hands gripped and pushed me further upon his mouth.

And I continued, despite being so overwhelmed, because there was my husband urging me to do so with his kisses and commands. (Something I masturbated to for awhile)


I love first kisses. The shy or bold eye contact, the leaning in, maybe grazing skin at certain parts of the body or hands softly exploring, the almost fearful or anxious breath that both exhibits, the way the lips extend a bit in not quite a pucker, the first meeting of the lips, how one person may open just a bit in invitation, how another person may pillage their way in. I am always curious if they kiss with





just tip of tongue

a lot of tongue

a thick tongue

a hardened bolden tongue


all over the mouth

only tilt their head to one side and are crap at the other

take my breath away

allow air to come between our lips

kiss with their whole body

make noises

dominate my tongue or lips

….and so many other ways. That first moment is magical, even if we’re not compatible. It’s a merging of two bodies wanting to connect on such an intimate level.


Sometimes I feel like the movie prostitute who states no mouth kissing – I do not need mouth kissing to have sex. I can kiss someone everywhere and have them kiss me everywhere and yet our mouths do not need to touch. So when I do kiss someone on the mouth, it somehow feels more intimate, and somehow more dangerous. I could get their colds; they could steal my heart.


On the opposite end of the spectrum, my husband calls himself a mouth whore. That man loves to kiss on the mouth, and when he’s drinking he becomes a bit more inviting of others to kiss him. Kissing is one of his favorite activities and he can do just that for hours.

Kink of the Week is on kissing. I would consider this a real kink of my husband, and a love of mine.

 Posted by at 6:19 am
Dec 192015

Kink of the Week and Exhibit Unadorned’s Christmas Erotica Prompt of the song White Christmas both mention semen. So without further ado:

First off, I feel that I need to state that I can no longer get pregnant, so semen does not bring the unwanted worry of a pregnancy. When I was capable of getting pregnant, semen almost seemed the enemy if birth control wasn’t locked down (it always was), and when I did plan to get pregnant, semen seemed like the holy grail of the whole point of the activity (although I still immensely enjoyed myself too). Semen was capable of granting life within me, of mixing and melding to create something beautiful – when it was planned pregnancies. I am grateful that becoming pregnant is no longer a concern, I can embrace semen wholeheartedly with my tested partners.

On a far sexier note: with my husband and I separated, when he shares videos of him masturbating, he always gives me a close up when he cums. I love to see the thick white fluid coating his skin; it always makes my mouth water as well. I keep telling him that just once I want to see it coat the wires of his headphones when we phone/video sex, because the wires are white and they would be mixed with white, and because it would annoy the hell of him but it would happen anyhow because he’d be so lost in the sensations that it would spurt out uncontrolled, and I fucking love the lack of control in that aspect.

I do not like it when a man cums on my skin – it just seems like a large waste to me. I’m not opposed to it as long as it’s not the face, but it’s not something I’m fond of. Watching him masturbate over my body is hot, but I want him inside me when he finds his release.

My mouth is always a welcomed receptacle. I love giving blow jobs, love to wrap lips around his hardness, my mouth creating a sucking sensation and my tongue pressed against and feeling the ridges and texture of his penis. I love when he holds still at the point of climax, his shaft unbelievably hard as it swells, a pulsing inside my mouth, and the salty taste pouring against my tongue or in the back of my throat. I will almost always swallow – if for no other reason than the mess factor, but I do not mind the taste. I know that I have pleased him in a skilled manner – blow jobs are not easy, though they are fantastically fun.

I love when a man cums from sex best of all. I love to feel him rigid and throbbing, push deep and held tight within my body, for him to vocalize in some way that his fluid is gushing and mixing with mine. There is something so deeply intimate about that. I love how his white drops take their time to depart my body, sometimes slowly and unhurriedly – bit by bit, other times a thick puddle, a wet reminder of what transpired; how he marked me.

I don’t necessarily have a semen fetish but I do love when a man finds his pleasure, and the white evidence of that pleasure is a turn on to me.

 Posted by at 10:39 am
Dec 132015

The song that inspired this writing, from Exhibit Unadorned’s Christmas Erotica Prompt, song In the Bleak Midwinter. (I listened to it the entire time I wrote this piece.) [jwplayer mediaid=”4872″]

She traversed a bleak landscape of white and frost towards a bleak broken down church. Still, huddled though she was, she paused for a moment and looked, through the white flakes coming from the heaven towards earth, at the grandeur of a part of the side that still stood, the arched though vacant concrete window frames that still stood proudly. She tried to imagine it full of people and hope, color and life.

She sought solace in its walls, comfort in its will to stand tall still.

And then she saw his figure in the frame of a window, gripped her clothing tighter about her, and proceeded to cautiously make her way amid the now frail blocks of concrete that had fallen in years past.

Before she could utter a word, he had gripped her shoulder, spun her around, and moved his arm around her neck, whispering in her ear how not even the walls of so sacred a place would hear her scream. Though the snow drifted in less places where they stood, it still fluttered like her heart and clung to her cheeks like tears.

She nodded her assent and he released her, circled around and she felt herself not worthy of this place where angels gathered and people were blessed, could not look upon the gray walls covered with bits of moss, vines, and earth that reached up still so high. She flung her view downcast. He stripped her, slowly, first shifting her hood away and taking hold of her chin with a soft order to look at him. When she met his steady gaze, she felt reassured and comforted. He commanded she look around and take a deep breath of what would become his reign over her in this most holy of places. He leaned forward and kissed both of her cold cheeks softly with his warm lips while slower still unraveling the scarf from her neck.

When he moved away to unhurriedly slip her jacket and the rest of her clothing from her body, the very air thronged with tension and passion; and compelled her exposed skin to be even more aware of his warmth in the midst of this once full concrete marvel. The frost bit into her skin and awakened it and she counted the grooves in those arched windows, starting at the top of the pointed frame and every time her eyes drifted down to another groove she felt her body calming, felt her forehead relaxing and her jaw unclenching, felt her shoulders sliding down and her back to straighten proudly, felt her chest rise and fall with each inhalation and exhalation, her stomach a slight wave from welcoming the breaths, her hips and bottom capable of supporting her with legs and feet on a solid foundation.

For though the walls crumbled throughout the years, the foundation at this very core was solid and secure.

His legs connected with the back of her knees and she knelt as if in prayer, worshiped the cold floor beneath with a beloved kiss, connected with the cold hardness like iron and pure white flakes that melted beneath her loving lips. He gripped her hair and pulled her head up, and she felt suddenly that she was worthy, that she had every right to be right here in this moment, that she could fill this sacred space with love and sustain this man at its center.

*Also with a focus on Brutalism/Concrete for Kink of the Week.

 Posted by at 8:16 am