Oct 082017
 

I have a few go to phrases, “I suck at handjobs,” is one of those. It’s something that I don’t have a lot of practice in because that go-to statement is normally enough to get my off the hook and moving onto things that I do better. The reality is just that it’s a nonpreferred activity in a bag full of fun sexiness, and something that felt awkward to me.

The nitty gritty of that statement is that I feel handjobs are an area of weakness for me and rather than encourage practice and learning about it, I avoid it like the plague. There will be no blemish on my skill level. Nope.

That doesn’t mean that my hand doesn’t wrap around a cock, or that my palm or fingers don’t appreciate sliding up and down to feel how thick and hard he is, the pulse that I can create, the veins that create a contrast to the smoothness. Oh no, I appreciate all of that. My hands will still most likely touch and feel, but they won’t ever promise a motion that promises fulfillment. My hands will work in tandem with my mouth, most often, if fulfillment to him and hands are involved in any way. That’s part of my own fetish anyhow, having him in my mouth, perhaps that’s why: my greedy mouth does not like to step aside for just hands.

I love when a partner shows me how they like to grip themselves, stroke themselves, the pace that gets them off. Besides being visually stunning and a turn on, I do learn from that – just don’t feel confident in that I could duplicate that sensation due to my lack of experience. I will mimic it, but more as a tease and less of an act in itself, stopping rather quickly so I can get to something I feel more confident in. Every man is so vastly different, from my experience, in how they want a handjob that it’s a bit daunting.

There have been some exceptions, I am sure, far far into my past where a man came unexpectedly, but I can’t place one situation. With my ex-husband, I would peg him and stroke him with a hand at the same time, but he took control of the handjob the first time so our go-to was I would encourage him to stroke himself while I fucked him. For us, if he wanted me to give him a handjob until orgasm, I would’ve tried, but he let me off the hook every time – besides our fascination was always deep throating or sex to fulfillment.

With Mr. Texas, he finally vocalized and showed me what he liked, but it is not something that I feel I could duplicate – rather I learned where he likes to be touched best and to what extent – knowledge I use frequently. The few times I have tried to give him a handjob, he has let me know he’d rather do other things – somewhat discouraging me when I feel bold enough to try. Which normally I wouldn’t care about – again, a bag full of fun things to do anyhow, but I would like to try to give him fulfillment in this way, as oftentimes he will just finger me to orgasm without his own pleasure pursuit so I would like to reciprocate… but he doesn’t seem to want me to try? Or perhaps I suck at the act? Maybe his own kink is getting me off without any pleasure being returned? (It’s not our lack of communication that stops me from knowing my answer – it’s my own fear of the answer).

The Wanderer, well, now I have a success story for this post. He loves handjobs – something that filled me with dread, but he is an excellent teacher, and he walked through my first successfully tried handjob. He was able to verbalize exactly what he wanted and needed, and that was such a huge turn on in itself. It was beautiful to witness.

“My hand wrapped around his shaft and he directed to where exactly to hold on the length. Unsure, I squeezed a bit and he directed me to clench harder. Up and down, my fingers felt the muscles and veins and ridges, my palm felt how deliciously hard he was. His encouragement with the timber of his voice, the erotic words directing me, and I found myself growing wet, imagining what I felt in my hand sliding up and down inside my cunt.

As he hardened even more, his thigh muscles tightened and his hips thrusted a bit into my hand, and I felt powerful. I was creating these sensations that he was enjoying, producing pleasure that had nothing to do with me and every bit directed just for him. There is something selfless about a hand job: it allowed me to be more of an observer of his pleasure, gifted me an intimate view of how he reacts and what he liked, such an intimate glimpse.

I felt him pulse and throb against my fingers and palm, watched as his milky orgasm reached its climax and shot out of his cock, heard his groan of satisfaction. It was so hot” – Hot Wax and Hands

[jwplayer mediaid=”7535″]

Sep 242017
 

The first time I wrote about this topic was for Kink of the Week over four years ago. At that point, I had just been spanked for the time after orgasms. I really enjoyed that first time, and slowly, tentatively, carefully I was spanked from time to time – but always after orgasms and never with much frequency.

Kink of the Week also got me to talk about one of the rare times I bruised from having my bottom spanked a year after that, with a partner that was less careful and tentative, and whose spanking I discovered I really enjoyed despite the less orgasm-hazed brain and more with the warm up of just his hand on my skin. I learned that spanking on its own could be something I desired if done right – though far be for me to deny an orgasm.

The following year, again with Kink of the Week, I discussed how hands on my ass has helped me accept that even this part of my body is sexy – before that I thought I lacked the bottom for anyone, myself included, to appreciate.

That post was two years ago and spanking happened irregularly. Since then, I’ve met two men and they both spank me quite a bit.

The Wanderer’s main kink is spanking, and when we first began playing it certainly wasn’t mine – I was still really new to this activity and had a love/hate relationship with it. But I wanted to engage in a kink that he enjoyed, so he gave me my first over-the-knee spanking and showed me the power dynamics that can be felt from just a change of positioning. I have since learned that I enjoy spanking on its own and sometimes want it under the right circumstances. Bare handed spanking is now part of our play, which I had a strong feeling it would be because it was his kink, but I was pleasantly surprised how much I can enjoy it. We engage in this activity so much that I created a category for it on the blog. He’s taught me that spanking on its own can be a whole scene, that sex and other things do not need to occur for me to get something out of it that I need or want. Though again, far be it for me to say no to orgasms – I’ve even orgasmed from being spanked:

“Right when it began to feel good, it began to really sting again. He swatted constantly and consistently at a fast pace and somehow even with my legs rendered useless I managed to twist and turn around his body, wedging myself between him and the bed for protection.

He simply laughed at me and wrapped a solid arm around my waist, continuing his sting assault as he shifted his own body off of the the bench.

I clung to the bench as if it would save my overly dramatic life, pressed my breasts and belly and thighs into it, willing myself to meld into hiding.

He shifted tactics and used thuds – it was probably from his palms but it felt like his fists. My body tensed at the onslaught and I began to clench. More tension and suddenly my body released and surrendered at the pain, creating a pleasurable orgasm in the wake.” – The Brush

At the same time as spanking became part of my play, I was also dating Mr. Texas. He was a vanilla (big emphasis on that past tense word), and spanking seemed to be a good baby step. Mr. Texas doesn’t always like warm up, he loves to see the marks that his hand can create and is often impatient to get there, but he is a natural top in this. (He’s also taught me that I enjoy punching with the thud far more than spanking with the sting.)

He has also made me cry from spanking:

“Mr. Texas’ hands did the real damage as they almost always do, first caressed my reddened cheeks which felt amazing, softly patted a few times, then pulled back and spanked to where the imprint of every finger and thumb connect to his palm was not only visible – it was felt.

I jumped up and elbowed him in the chest, though not hard as I couldn’t see and he stepped back. If we had made eye contact, I’m sure my gaze would have conveyed my dislike over such extreme stingy pain, though he didn’t need to see – he knew how much I disliked it.

“Mother fucker,” I gritted, tip toeing to relieve some sting on my cheek – it didn’t alleviate any. His hand went to my mid back and he pushed me down to bend over the counter again.” – Wet Leather 

Between these two men, spanking has occurred a lot in the last couple of years, as well as the addition of a play partner in a dungeon who has used me as demo bottom for spanking with newbies. I think I claim that bare handed spanking is a kink of mine, something I could not do when I first began writing about it four years ago.

Sep 172017
 

Wicked Wednesday

photo credit: Gunn Shots (Catching up) Vistas of my youth via photopin(license)

This is a post that is always a work in progress, as I listen to conversations and agree with so many perspectives. It’s also shifted in myself. Consent is something that is on and off screamed about on Fetlife, and trust is something stressed in the kink communities. When the flurry of writings come out, I try to sort out my own perspective and mixed emotions – especially when it came to my own experience of my trust being broken.

For a play person, consent is crucial. Safe words, negotiations, boundaries being respected are all important factors of the dynamic. Sure, there is trust, but the trust is that those consent pieces are respected. I also have a love/hate relationship with safe words – for a play partner, I keep them at the forefront of my mind; in a relationship I don’t think to use them unless it’s been negotiated prior – I want to go further down the rabbit hole and explore the strange curiosities of comfortably uncomfortable. Safe words imply that a boundary may be crossed due to a lack of awareness of a limit (which may be necessary in both play partners and relationships, but less so in a relationship as the person knows limits).

For a relationship, trust is crucial – consent less so. There is a level of trust that must exist in order for me to fully let go; I entrust things to someone else – including my well-being; I leave it up to that person in that moment. Trust is based on the unknown as well as the known – my partner knows me well enough for this relationship; I trust my partner to choose things specifically for me without my knowledge and based on what is best for me.

To think of it another way: when someone asked what you want at a restaurant and you say, “I’ll leave it up to you,” or “surprise me,” they will not order things that they know you despise. If you go on a date with someone, you strive to the next date – not push your own agenda without care for the other person. So too do I expect my partner to take the time to know me deeply, intimately, to know what I will not do, to push gently for that next step together and go at a pace that is conducive for us both.

I too take that same pace with them – I am not a passive participant.

This type of trust is built over time and carefully cultivated – hence the relationship aspect for me, and it is constantly evolving. It’s a delicate dance of patience and nurturing. And serious communication. It allows me to enter into gray areas, push past boundaries, experiment in a safe place.

Consent is black or white, broken or upheld to the highest degree. It hints at a lack of trust. Negotiation is fantastic, and often necessary in the beginning of two people who do not know each other, but there is something far sexier in the wonder of what’s next in a scene unfolding to me.

At a munch, someone asked the group, “how do you know if someone wants this,” and they replied communication, asking. These are simplistic ways, and truly a great thing, but mid scene I do not want to stop, nor am I going to the very limits of what is negotiated or something that they like. If someone gives a list of kinks, I’m not going to go down every one, I’m going to stroke a few carefully and watch for reactions.

Some examples: with The Wanderer:

“I test the waters, unsure of what he’ll allow…he’s a new partner and I want to please him. I am lucky in that I know a bit about him … but I don’t know what level he exerts dominance, what level of passivity or submission he expects from me.

So my fingertips lightly caress, then become bolder with hands, and then move from fabric to removing fabric, then from hands to mouth.

I never once push, ask, nor even communicate through body language that he should fuck me. I respect his boundary, as I am always very respectful and conscientious of any boundary given,” – Developing 

Okay, now I play with the boundary in a teasing way for fun, though I would never push for sex – it is the boundary. I’ll still mimic the act of sex, grind myself down on his lap, bend over before he spanks me and bump my bottom against his pelvis – but it is clearly a tease and not trying to get away with something I shouldn’t – I only do things of his nature when he is fully clothed, wearing his chastity belt of pants as it were. Even to be comfortable enough to know that my teasing would be acceptable took patience and tiny trials, starts and stops to see how far our trust in each extended.

With Mr. Texas, we started exploring pain elements with safewords, now it is something that is not needed, nor rarely used unless discussed, so it is something I would not think to use unless discussed:

“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.” – Safeword Complication

Mr. Texas and I have extensive trust in each other, and we have certainly baby stepped our way into kink since he was inexperienced and I was untrusting (when he met me). It is this openness of being a strong foundation of exploration that allowed me to relax enough to try anal sex again and impact play has gone far more than any other in more variety of ways.

Before the fallout of my ex husband, he gave me the safe space to explore my sexuality and my world to kink (it was a mutual new experience for us both) without judgment. He pushed my boundaries far past what I thought I would be comfortable with, but it was gently, always (until the end) with the intent that the exploration continue and was comfortable with both of us.

I believe in both consent and trust – but my relationships are less about consent because I do trust them, boundaries are more gray areas, safewords not necessary as we read and know each other (though still there, if need be- a safeword would not be ignored). I cannot consent to a journey unknown.

Sep 112017
 

1. What is your reality?

This feels like a very philosophical question, and I hate all my philosophy classes, so maybe that’s the answer? 

I hate philosophy. 

2. Will you have sex today? This week?

Odds are pretty strong I’ll have it again, maybe a couple of times more depending on scheduling around family, and already had sex today. This week is a guarantee – Mr. Texas and I have figured out crankiness ensues if sex does not happen regularly.

3. What did you hate doing this past weekend?

I hate arguing, to which it seems I do quite a bit of. Cleaning wasn’t too bad – of that I do very little of anyhow, and it’s always by choice nowadays. Yeah, I’m spoiled being a sugar mama – almost zero work around the house. 

4. What did you love doing this past weekend?

Slow dancing in the living room, binge watching a great show (something I do rarely), playing with my fur babies.

5. Which new technology have you found most helpful in your life? Which do you find to be the most annoying?

My phone has to be my lifeline somedays, though that’s not new technology. I hate any technology that requires fixing of any sort – it’s my automatic crazy button to an emotional meltdown. 

Bonus: Go do last week’s TMI questions that were posted on Friday. Great questions!

1. You are going to make a sexy weekend with your lover. Which one are you most likely to enjoy? Which of the activities is most likely to happen?
a. Cook dinner together
b. Play a sexy game
c. Take a bath together

Cooking dinner together is most likely to happen as we’ve done that several times (and dancing in between), though taking a bath together sounds divine – once I can afford to get a custom tub that will fit the two of us.

2. Will you watch porn this weekend? Alone or with someone?

Most likely I will somewhat watch porn (does Tumblr count as porn?) and alone

3. Sexy games–pick one you’d like to play? Why?
a. Naked twister or
b. Strip trivial pursuit – I’m more likely to be better at this

3. Friday night you hit happy hour, you meet a super sexy woman/man and the two of you chat and laugh the night away. She/he leans into you and says, “You’re irresistible, can I touch your pussy/cock?’ What is your answer?

Depends on my mood, and more importantly: am I ovulating (far more likely a yes then)?

4. What do you really have planned for the weekend?

I may travel this weekend, kind of leaving it up to a family member

5. Does this TMI on a Friday have you changing your weekend plans?

Nope, not a bit.

Bonus: What you like to do on the weekend but never seem to get the chance?

Again, that depends on my mood. I’d love to travel more but that’s more financial reasons, not to mention I’ve been incredibly hermit-like recently.

————

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!

Sep 072017
 

Squirting is a sexual hangup on mine; my very first hangup since becoming sexual active and it happened less than ten years ago. It also occurred with my ex-husband. The first time he made me squirt, he lifted his hand and smelled it. It wasn’t a sexy smelling he was doing, he was checking to see if I peed myself. Since I had never done this before to my awareness*, the sensation certainly felt like I  had. When I saw his hand lift to his nose, it was a horror-movie-moment of slow-motion what-is he-going-to-find? I immediately excused myself and went into the bathroom and cried, mortified and embarrassed. The sexy moment between us had come to a screeching halt and I wished I could have just vanished. The talk afterwards didn’t go well, then, either (once he finally coaxed me out of the bathroom). While we communicated openly and honestly, we just fumbled and stuck our foot in our mouth.

I hated squirting.

Because of that first experience and the fact that he could make me squirt with such ridiculous ease, we compromised that he never sniffed and eventually we settled to only in the shower.

When I squirt, I will cover an entire wrist and leave a pool of my desire dripping onto the sheets or an arm; there has to be enough pressure applied with a vibe or fingers – which curl just the right way inside of me (so far fingering and a vibrator are the only ways that have made me squirt). I dislike the mess outside of a shower, to be honest. Sheet and mattress pad have to be washed, odds are I’ll have to shower – something I don’t feel the urge to do outside most sexual acts but squirting covers so much of my lower half I may as well at least rinse off.

Once, I was able to do this myself with a vibrator.  Feeling the urge to masturbate, I grabbed my vibrator, and without any warm up, forced it through my dry entrance, slowly eased it in, pulled out and smeared my juices inside around my lips. Then I thrusted my vibrating toy in and out, hard, rough, frenzied. I heard my orgasm, the wetness slapping against the vibrator; felt the tension then liquid hitting my hand, little splatterings that surprised me. In that moment I was proud I had accomplished such a feat.

Once, Mr. Texas ordered me to make myself squirt – something my ex-husband accomplished over a video chat once, ordering:

“Harder,” he would urge, “really fuck yourself,” and, “you can go deeper… you won’t be allowed to cum unless you really give it your best effort,” finally followed by the order, “cum”…The sound traveled across miles, from one receiver to another, and hit my body like thunder. I squirted, my fingers and wrist coated from the force, the bottom of my lingerie and the bed catching the drops of the tensioned storm because he knew how to make me do it-even to myself. – My Punishment

I tried for Mr. Texas, but I immediately felt like crying over such an order – I really don’t know how to do it, nor do I even want to (hence why my ex made me- it was a punishment). Truly, what is most frustrating at times is when a partner reads about experiences I’ve had and believes that the dynamics, actions, experiences can happen again. Squirting is elusive now, something that I do not mind in the slightest.

Nowadays, Mr. Texas has gotten me close, and perhaps even achieved this, though I do have a defense mechanism that is instinctively for whatever reason: I hit. I’m sure I did this with my ex-husband but he never paid any heed if I hit him; Mr. Texas stopped immediately, concerned. We’ve talked about why I do this, and so most of the time he still proceeds or even pins down my arm (surprisingly I only instinctively hit with my right, never my left), but squirting orgasms have to be forced from me, and with my own resistance towards them it becomes even more challenging to create this orgasm.

Thankfully, I have so many more less frustrating orgasms, easier to obtain, in such a variety of ways; I’m not sure why squirting orgasms are even desired by a partner. I don’t hate squirting anymore but I can’t claim to like it either.

*I can recall drenching a bed from just fingering and multiple orgasms before my ex-husband, but due to the nature of the multiple orgasms didn’t have the time or the brain power to reflect upon the oddities of the orgasms. I believe that this was my first experience with squirting, about a year prior to meeting my ex-husband.

Aug 152017
 

Kink of the Week’s prompt sparked my interest on names and titles. Actually, that’s like saying I read the prompts and just this one caught my eye – truth is I rarely even know what the prompt is. But I discovered this one, and it’s awesome and thought provoking.

I tackled titles in 30 Days on Kink where I tried to define my kinky self. Then, on the way to a GRUE, Mr. Texas and I were discussing how we define (well, a lot of things), and names and titles are handy for that, though no one model always fits. I stated that I’m going through a kink midlife crisis – I no longer know how to define my kinky self, nor necessarily how to define my relationship with others.

In the 30 Day writing prompt: I defined myself as wife – I am no longer, nor do I have any desire to take on that role.

ADD Brat: yeah, I’m really not that either. I don’t brat often with Mr. Texas – it began as more of trying to show that his role of top would be respected and now is just a natural role with us. I also don’t brat with The Wanderer.

Rope bottom: this has led to the most crisis type feeling with my kink identity as that used to be a primary role I would tell people and now it just doesn’t feel true. I’m sure that rope is still my most responsive kink, but I no longer actively look for it nor do I initiate any rope play. Therefore, can I even really claim this role?

Lightweight bottom: still am this, but I’ve learned I can take far more than I thought possible.

Primal: still am this, though it’s rare I’ll engage, and not with the same intensity (mostly because I’m not physically cool enough).

Switch: I’ve taken on this role far more than I would’ve thought possible.

Submissive: I’ve taken this role far less than I used to.

New to me roles:

Top: A role I find myself enjoying more and more.

Mistress: I’ve been called this in the past on a rare occasion, likewise with the present. It makes me feel slightly like a fraud – I simply don’t feel cool enough for this title, nor does it seem to fit anything I am seeking.

Impact bottom: Surprisingly, I like impact far more than I could’ve thought possible, given my wimpy nature.

Girlfriend: I use this term with vanillas.

Speaking of vanillas…

A few weeks ago Mr. Texas asked what I refer to him as. I asked him in what context.He mentioned that I introduced him as my partner at a rope event. I told him to vanillas, he’s my boyfriend (a term I rarely use), my guy (most frequent), my spouse, or my husband (it’s easier, I found). (No, we’re not legally married.) To kinky people, I refer to him most often as my partner. To people really seeking what type of partner, I would use the term primary, though nesting would work. We’re committed, as much as our relationship defines, and living together and raising little folks. I haven’t quite put a title on it, nor do I feel the urge to (though I know it’s peace of mind to give some sort of shape to dynamics).

The Wanderer and I also recently had a discussion on roles and titles. He has a few he uses for me, though to be honest none of them stick in my head where I could even state them now. I wouldn’t even know how to define our relationship – and I expressed the vague sort of titles I would use for him, though admitted that none felt accurate.

I really dislike titles and roles, though again I know people use whatever vocabulary they have at hand to try to describe just how important a person is to them, and what they consider themselves to be. I am not picking my titles, I’m okay with people defining how they will, and I’m trying to give the same respect when asked how I would describe them (though I’m not assigning titles or roles even in my head either).

The problem…

At the GRUE, there were great conversations on defining what the term relationship even meant to an individual, and what sort of poly they were (if they were poly). Defining things, people, ourselves seem to matter, regardless of how much I dislike doing so – it does increase effective communication with others, something I dearly want.

And the hard limits:

I have a serious dislike of the term “girl” in reference to myself, it just takes me out of my head space in unpleasant ways. Likewise, daddy or mommy (or other parental names) wouldn’t work for me either. I am indifferent on names like slut, I’m learning – it simply does nothing for me.

Aug 152017
 

1. Is a weird “sex face/orgasm face” a total deal-breaker?

No, I normally keep my eyes shut, but I don’t think it would be anyhow. I don’t wish to see my own orgasm face – I believe I probably look pretty ridiculous and frankly don’t give a damn to be corrected or aware of what I look like.

2. Do you enjoy having your balls played with (or playing with balls)?

I do enjoy playing with them, it’s a toy I don’t have; however I don’t think I focus too much attention on them.

3. Have you ever hooked-up with somebody based on their proximity to your smartphone location (Tinder, GRINDR, etc)?

Yes, this was how I met Mr Texas; I believe his first message to me was as impressive as “you live close”. Clearly the hook up worked well.

4. You have some free-time in the workday–blow job or intercourse? (BJ can be giving or receiving).

Either; it depends on what would make my hair more of a mess – because in this scenario it sounds like I have to go back to work.

5. How long after having sex with a new partner do you have to wait before falling asleep?

Depends: if sex includes some pain elements or a hell of a lot of orgasms it would be faster than just sex. 

Bonus: What’s the dirtiest or sexiest text message you’ve ever received?

I’m quite sure it was from my ex-husband, and I’m not going to revisit the memory nor the messages I have to check what it would have been.
————
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!

Jul 262017
 

“It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.” Author Mark Haddon describes this in an excellent book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. 

That’s what rain is to me on so many levels; it’s sensations without being intrusive. I’ve written that 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. Rain is sensed, smelled in the distance, felt in the oppressive weight in the air. It covers all my senses, makes my skin damp. I love how I can feel just a drop or two, and then a downpour can completely cover me. I love a gentle rain that I can play in, or rain that engulfs and takes every inch of my body; in either type or somewhere in the middle you can find me often outside barefoot and appreciating the sensations that rain creates.

I haven’t necessarily rushed home with a lover and slowly peeled off each layer of dripping clothes, licking up the droplets that remain on their skin, but I like that fantasy.

I love how the water can seep between us in ways nothing else can, in between lips, tasting the liquid between sliding tongues.

Rain can shift perspective on everything, blur, clean, refresh the world around me.

Jul 152017
 

My favorite type of fingering is hard/rough, fast, and deep; I love thrusting type motions far more than anything else for orgasms so if one or two fingers are inside of me, filling me, and I can feel the remainder of the fingers and hand slamming against my lips, it’s heavenly. Fingering is something that I didn’t care much for until recent years, when I discovered I liked it exactly that way. I also learned that I can squirt, cover an entire wrist and leave a pool of my desire dripping onto the sheets, if there’s enough pressure applied and fingers curl just the right way inside of me (so far fingering and one time with a vibrator are the only ways that have made me squirt).

Recently I’ve had some amazing experiences with fingers…

…I was teased for a length of time, and then it felt as if his whole fist was inside of me (it wasn’t, I was reassured, just a couple of fingers), painful, and my body wasn’t quite ready and stretched to accommodate but the act of forcing inside of me, the tightness of my body gripped around the intrusion created its own pleasure, and soon I coated his fingers and relaxed more against the pressure. He moved so agonizing slowly, intentionally based on his smile and ignoring of my begging. Finger tips circled the entrance, pressed in, gradually sunk in deeper and deeper where the length filled to almost painful, unhurriedly slid along my walls, out. I squeezed against the length, willed my body to orgasm despite the maddening pace, but he deliberately kept a  measure  I couldn’t. Finally, the pain as his teeth sunk into the sensitive nub of a nipple created such tension that I gratefully climaxed around his fingers.

…A few times I’ve had a new experience of one finger anally inserted and the others crammed into my cunt. It is unbelievable to me  how much I really appreciate the feeling of being filled with fingers, of stimulation in both places so very close together that I don’t often experience. A few times I’ve wondered if I like it so much because it is a rare treat, or if I would like it each and every time I get to experience it; I used to have sex with a finger in my anus more regularly and I liked it every time, so perhaps it is not the novelty of the stimulation.

Fingering seems to be in many of my posts as it’s such an easy way for me to orgasm to…

Half laying on my side and stomach, I woke up when fingers roughly pushed their way into my body, pounded in and out to where the hand and remaining fingers felt like a fist against my lips.

I was already wet, as it seems I always am. I clenched around the fingers and dream and reality splintered with the rough and quick orgasm.”Feeling Forced

Waking up to a fingering is such a fetish I have, but I’ve learned that I appreciate the many different ways of anticipating fingers inside of me as well.

He put a finger in my mouth, and I sucked on it, running my tongue down the side, my lips sliding all the down the length of it, before he pulled it back and moved the finger between my labia, my own kisses allowing his finger to slide inside before it curled deliciously against my g-spot. He moved unhurriedly, rubbing it against my spot, uncurling, slowly easing the teasing digit out, softly circling my entrance, bringing out my cream, dipping back in, back out, spreading my dampness between my lips and up to my clitoris, circling and flicking the nub, again advancing between my folds…oh my…

We had been going all day; my sore body was still so very sensitive as well. “Finger fuck me hard,” I groaned, arching my back, my hips bucking against his slow and torturous finger. He complied, his finger dancing in and down to a rhythm by now he knew I liked. My thighs trembled, tightened, thrusting my hips up to meet his finger, to fuck it even harder….Tightening, tensing, clenching, trying to grip just the one finger, feeling it press, feeling my core absorbing the touch and fanning the sensation outwards, I moaned into my orgasm.” – Finger 

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.