Apr 122017
 

“Play hard to get, remain silent, scared, and dramatically emotional,” Joy repeated to herself, closing the big red book of Fairy Tales upon her perch of the toadstool. She nodded to herself for extra measure, felt the breeze stir the fringes of her tutu skirt, rubbed her toes together for comfort, and laid the book beside her. She arched into the sunlight, welcomed the warming rays upon her bare arms and face, and closed her eyes, trying to remember the rest of what she’d learned about non humans trying to get humans to love them.

She’d like Beast’s methods best, but he was a male. She looked down at her breasts and giggled, nope…she just didn’t possess enough fur to carry it off and take the woman like he did. Besides, she had her sights set on a man. Of course, maybe men liked that sort, but her extensive research did not indicate that. She had read what men really liked.

He was long, but then again they all looked a bit long when one was tiny. He had the most beautiful garden, and seemed kind. She loved how what he was focused on reflected so beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. She hoped to be reflected there one day, with his luscious lips smiling at her in love.

She stood up, squared her shoulders, stretched her wings and let those embrace the breeze and sun before flitted to the nearby ground. She squinted her eyes and held her breath after casting, realized that wasn’t the most flattering, and forced herself to relax as all the fairies seemed to. Eloquence, grace, she repeated. A few seconds went by: a deep breath and her eyes opened to the grass so far below her she could barely distinguish the toadstool. She worried for the briefest of moments if she made herself too long, but worrying just wasn’t in her nature, so she shrugged and off she headed towards the man’s yard.

Not that Joy headed far, she simply stepped a few times, in awe of heavy she seemed against the earth, her feet slightly sinking in damp dirt, and reached for over the short gate to his gorgeous garden. A quick twist of the lock, a slight push of the creaky contraption, and she entered the path, immediately being surrounded by the lovely fragrance of roses and flowers. This was by far her favorite season, made her think of sex amid all the perfumed sweetness.

This year she was going to attempt a different type of sex, her family always did mention just how her curiosity got the better of her. It was such fun discovering new things. As she walked past the blooms, before she was already visible in the garden, she could already envision once he saw her he would stand up and gaze at her beauty. She would pretend to just notice him and turn back towards the bushes and climbing vines as if to seek shelter, but he would take her hand and guide into the sunshine in the center of his yard. She would smile coyly, a move she had been practicing, and would shyly kneel before him.

Men, she read, loved blow jobs, a sex called oral, and so he would be surprised when she kneeled in front of him but wouldn’t stop her. She would reach for his pants and pull out his penis. According to her reasearch, this was where individual preference mattered, so she would purse her lips and start blowing softly before she increased the intensity to hard blowing. She liked the breeze upon her wings, so she supposed a human male’s penis might appreciate the air she created across. Sucking she couldn’t imagine would create the same air stream, but supposedly that was important too, so she would suck in great lungful of air and would look up with him with eyes that looked like puppies and he would smile his appreciation at her gift, falling in love with her.

The tricky part was, according to the fairy tales, they would be married immediately but she didn’t want that part, only the falling in love and sex part; so she would have to run away once he proposed. But she would blow him a kiss behind her shoulder and wink to let him know there were no hard feelings, and try not to giggle (as was her nature) until she was once again in her natural form. (The tales also shared she would die a painful death if she didn’t succeed, but of course she would, she always did.)

Joy couldn’t wait to see the look on his face as she gave him what all men wanted so much they fell in love. She quickened her steps.
Wicked Wednesday

*Wicked Wednesday is on nature this week. Click to see what inspires others.

Oct 062016
 

Mr Texas first pointed this out, and I’m glad that he was wise enough to realize it, but things get very slippery down there when I’m wet.

And I can get incredibly wet.

While this may be viewed as a good thing, the truth of the matter is that it’s simply not. Slippery when wet means that we both lose traction.

So it makes sense that my best two lovers in my life were larger. I am a small person, so I don’t necessarily like longer – that can hurt me and it’s not something I can adjust to (my ex husband was proof of that, far too big that I bled more often than not), but thicker to fill me and to feel me when my orgasms will coat us both and attempt to lose that traction.

I didn’t really come to this conclusion after lover number one with a thick cock – too young perhaps or not reflective enough on what makes me tick, but I was more aware of it with my ex husband. What really hit it home, however, was reading Hyacinth’s post I Love Big Dicks and I Cannot LieSlutfest, with its myriad of cocks, reinforced this with such a close comparison of what I enjoyed more than others; Pull Out Get Out guy hurt me – he was too large, but mostly the others were just not enough. Mr. Texas pointed it out about a week after we began having sex, after my first orgasm would flood us both and things became less…well, interesting.

“You get so wet, darlin’, that there’s nothing to grip me,” he said in his wise and ever patient way afterwards. We both lost a lot of sensation after my first orgasm, and while a second orgasm is always easier for me to achieve,  he would at least have to hit certain spots and continue there – a complicated endeavor. For him, it became not even close to as wonderful, though he claimed that I still felt good.

Besides my own orgasms, it truly does bother me if a man is inside of me and not feeling pleasure, or not able to find his own release, because my body simply won’t let him. I don’t want to have to worry about that. And it becomes boring to continue having sex when we both aren’t finding fulfillment amid the flood.

I miss the thickness of a man stretching and filling me, almost painfully until the first orgasm when my body welcomes the size amid the wetness.

Hyacinth mentions she is a size queen, and considering the reason, I understand why. I may just have to be one too.

Sep 102016
 

IMG_2038For some reason, when contacting people that could be potential dates, a lot of men lead with dick pictures. I’m not a fan, because I’m looking for more than their penis, but for some reason I thought this picture was well done.

 

(Posted with his permission, even though I will not meet him due to other reasons than this picture.)

Sinful Sunday
Aug 292016
 

Masturbation Monday Week 104I was going to say something about this picture.

I was going to put myself in the story; as the author and with my active and vivid imagination, use the first person I can experience this, grow excited, tighten clench. I want to be this female tied, in this scene, exposed, vulnerable waiting. Wet, wanton, wanting him to come closer. To cum.

I love when a man finds his release. Not on a face, and I don’t even like the visual on someone else. Not even on her body, which is straining, which mine would be as well, impatient. I would want him in my mouth – that gorgeous cock – the only  thing that he is willing to share of himself – and even then he’s not sharing. He’s too far away from me, from her, stroking it, enjoying his hardness sliding against his palm, his fingers able to feel that ridges that both of us are denied in this scenario. But we are both staring at his action, at his blatant desire at the scenario that he has created, even if we wanted to – we can’t tear our eyes away from the sight of his cock contrasted in the black around him – a spotlight for our focus, for our show, for the preview.

Oh yes, I want to be in this scene. My legs test the boundaries on the rope, fucking amazing rope – I mean this scene was designed for me. It digs into my wrists and ankles, my ankles sore because I see her move and I would as well, to try to relieve some of the tension between my legs, to see if I can escape, to open myself wider in an unspoken invitation.

Yes, I would want to taste him, but ultimately I would want him to take advantage of the predicament of the bondage, my legs are spread for him, for him to push the head past my drenched entrance and slide the hardened length until he hit the wall at the back, fully claiming and filling every part of me. I would clench down upon him as he pulled out a bit, protesting the action, moaning as he sunk back in.

I even like that he is faceless. He could be anyone – a dream or reality. In some ways, I’m objectifying him, it matters not who he is. It matters what he does to me, to her, to us. The stage matters. His cock matters: it is the instrument of teasing foreplay, it is the promise, the temptation, the fulfillment, the reason legs are spread and eyes are riveted.

So yes, when I first clicked on Masturbation Monday, and my body immediately reacted like I was punched in the gut and my fingers wanted to drift towards pleasure, I was going to tell a whole story. Instead I ran out of time and decided to just get to the main idea behind the reaction.Masturbation Monday badge - small

Aug 142016
 

So with my husband and I reconciling, one of the first things on his list was anal play for him. He hadn’t experienced it in months and I think that he was even made to feel that it was viewed negatively in some regard.

He missed it.

He had thrown out all the toys that he was in possession of that we had split, so we no longer had the very cool dildo that went beautifully with our harness (and also fit inside of me with vibrations); I was still in possession of the harness. So, off we went to a sex store where we found just a standard dildo that the harness would hold in. It was more malleable than the other dildo, which actually helped cut down on me accidentally hurting him; the downside is when I really got going it would slip out a little easier. It was also lighter, so while nothing was inserted into me, at least it stayed put in the harness a bit better.

Armed and ready, we were going to try pegging again.

Actually, it was a scene that I was giving him with pegging so he laid down tied in the center of the bed with a pillow under his bottom. I started with softer sensations (he dislikes pain of any kind). My hands would roam and my mouth was active the whole time:

tongues danced together with gentle caresses reaquainting fingertips with his body, soft sighs and a building of passion and love and trust;

blindfolding him with a soft leather strip so he could focus more on the physical sensations and less visually, my mouth hovering above his own as my tongue darting out to trace his lips as he tried to catch a kiss;

brushing his skin with feathers as my mouth would roam and suck at delectable areas that incited moans;

using stinging flicks of a toy as my teeth would nibble and occasionally bite, causing goosebumps and pinkened marks to appear across his body;

taking the tines of the wheel and traversing across his body as teeth would sink into muscles, causing him to jump or take sharp intakes of breath as he worked through the brief flashes of pain;
an ice cube melted in my mouth as my tongue swept across his reddened areas, cooling down the heated flesh right before I would drip hot wax from a candle, reheating the area and giving a contrast.

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. A black hood (a new toy of mine) with just an opening for the mouth was pulled over his face, effectively turning him more of an object that I was toying with and a mouth to fuck, as I immediately told him to stick out his tongue so I could straddle and fuck his face. I made sure to press my hips down every so often to make his breathing a little more labored as he brought me pleasure.
It wasn’t long before I placed on a glove, a lot of lube on one finger, positioned myself between his legs, and then my mouth teased the tip of his erection as I slowly circled his anus before inserting the finger. As my finger moved deeper into his body, my mouth moved lower down his shaft. Two fingers increased my sucking, which moved at the same time of my fingers – down and in, up and out. Three fingers – a bit trickier as my pinky always seems to be in the way, my tongue swirled around the ridges of his head as I inserted before attempting to deep throat him as my fingers tried to fill his body.

He sighed and moaned and groaned, his hips occasionally tried to thrust up and welcome the sensations even further. He was so hard in my mouth, occasionally pulsing at a delicious part, hitting the back of my throat at times, his muscle clenching around my fingers as they curled slightly, explored, slid in and out.
I decreased the sensations before stopping, taking off my glove and moving up his body, briefing sliding my own body to where he was inside of me and grinding on top of him while I took off his hood and kissed back his humanness. I kissed the sides of his neck as I took off his blindfold, slowing rotating my hips rather than fucking him roughly, leaned down to passionately kiss him before I slowly unraveled him to freedom, wanting him to have full use of his hands and legs. His hands immediately went to my hips to fuck us to pleasure, but I removed myself off him and told him to put me in the harness.
Less than a minute later I was again between his legs, liberally applying lubrication on my dildo, positioning it at his entrance. He seemed surprised that rather than enter him, I leaned forward and kissed him, pressing my body down on his own and telling him how much I loved him. Then I leaned up and carefully entered him, watching his face closely in between the toy disappearing into his depths. He gave me verbal feedback the whole way in, positive that it felt good, that it wasn’t hurting, that he could take more. When I was all the way in, I praised him as I leaned forward for a kiss again before straightening up and slowly easing out and then in. One hand stroked his cock and the other caressed his balls. Masturbation Monday Week 102

Soon I was fucking him, both hands gripping his hips like he so often did to me to have more leverage and go as deep as I could, and his own hand was stroking himself. I slipped out a couple of times, but eventually his body tensed and his hips lifted as his hand slowed while white spurts shot across his chest with his orgasm. It was a magnificent sight; it was verbally decadent to hear his sounds; it was incredible to create and be a part of.

I finished the scene for him with a warm wash cloth, cleaned the beautiful white streaks and hardened candle wax off his skin, had him sit up for a drink of water before rolling over so I could wipe off the excess of lube between his cheeks. I had a candle going of massage wax the whole time and poured enough over his broad expanse of back, rubbing his muscles and feeling any residue tension leave his body, before using another warm wash cloth to remove any oil that didn’t soak into his skin. I covered him with a blanket as he laid so peacefully and heard him snore before I even left the room to clean up our toys. Masturbation Monday badge - small

 

 

May 012016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI love the after moments, after my lips fairly drip with the evidence of our orgasms. When you are soft and relaxed, lazy in letting me stroke  you.

I love how your fingers will sometimes drift and graze across a nipple, my sharp intake of breath a clear indication of what those orgasms have done to create a sensitive nerve-centered body.

You might pull me over and on top of you, a hand around my neck to keep me there – not threatening my air flow but an evident display of your control over me. My head rests back on your shoulder, trusting and further exposing my vulnerable neck. I am only in this moment, with you and a body that cries out for more pleasure despite how overwhelming it may already be.

You reach down and your fingers dip into my wet center, drag the the slickness up and down my slit, circle and press lightly on my button, dip and finger fuck me roughly.

My hand reaches behind and continues to stroke you, harder now than moments before, your ridges becoming more evident against my palm and fingers.

You whisper in my ear how wanton I am, how I never get enough of you, how wet and needy my body is. You whisper of your next moves and your fingers echo of the pleasure you paint in words; a tension in my body’s core is created and I roll my hips against your fingers, turn my face closer to your words.

Prompt for Masturbation Monday Week 87

Apr 132016
 

For the A to Z Challenge, the letter K is for Kink. In having sex with an old lover, I realized that I simply want kink to be a part of my sex life, that it is important to me.

The man that I was polyamorous with, I am still friends with. He visited me recently, and now that I have my husband’s permission to do whatever I want, we had sex again. I just had to be crystal clear that it wasn’t a relationship – my husband doesn’t particularly like this man after our first go with polyamory.

What’s different about sex now versus then with this man is that now I realize I don’t like sex without BDSM aspects to it.

He has a smaller cock than what I’m used to, but it’s absolutely perfect for hitting my g-spot so that’s not an issue. I like that he doesn’t hurt me no matter how fast or furious we go at it, unless he puts a ring into his prince albert piercing. I love that piercing, love how the metal feels against my g-spot that he expertly hits, love to feel it shifting and rubbing inside of me, the contrast of the steel hardened point and the soft shaft.

He has an amazing ability to orgasm multiple times and go all day long if I desire him to. He’s so gifted with his tongue it should be a payable service. He is all about my pleasure and focused on it in a way that is unusual and a huge compliment.

He’s a fantastic lover.

He’s also more suited to someone other than me, I realized, despite all these pros.

My husband has been telling me that I simply don’t like sex without some kind of pain or power at play, and I’m realizing he’s right. I don’t.

I’m sure I could ask my friend for some spanking (he’s quite good at that), hair pulling, power dynamics. But I’m also realizing that I don’t want to train someone like I have done in the past – I simply want them to do it or for it to be inherent. Maybe it’s just my current mood and I will change my mind – after all, I don’t want someone to be a mind reader, but I do want someone to be naturally dominant and not just a service top while having sex with me.

* Written three months ago. This post made me chuckle as I read it again, because now I am with the most vanilla man I’ve ever met, and I’m working on slowly teaching him kink, something three months ago I stated that I don’t want to do. 

 Posted by at 8:04 am