Saturday, December 31, 2011

Sneaky posting

He touched me all over, my back, my legs, my sides, my breasts...the lightest, feathery touches, and I was nothing but a constant moan. The sensations his fingertips were causing rolled over me in waves of pleasure, an occasional "oh my god" spilling from my open mouth. I tried to get away a couple of times, and he just pulled me back to him, telling me to take it for him.

When I finally begged him to fuck me, he taunted me a bit before consenting. "I'm just touching you, and you're making so much noise. Did you just beg me to fuck you?"

He spooned me, pressed his cock against my wet pussy, then finally inside. So good. I threw my top leg over his hip as he moved inside of me, and his hand wandered all over my front.

"Hurt me," I begged.

"You want me to hurt you?"

I whimpered an agreement and his hand came crashing onto my breast, then my other breast, my pussy, my thigh. I cried out softly and arched up into his touch, begging for more. He still moved slowly inside of me, whispering dirty things into my ear.

He pinched my nipple hard and I cried out that it hurt. "I know," he responded as he thrust faster and I moved with him. He got more and more excited, moving his hand from one nipple to the other, practically crushing the poor nub. I screamed, and he exploded inside me with a last flurry of motion.

Happy new year, blogoverse! I've got another week of vacation before I'm back.

We're enjoying the hell out of ourselves in the mean time. :)

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Merry Christmas!

Good gracious, you people write a LOT. Here I am with no internet and I seem to have 136 blog posts to read. I don't think I'm going to be able to tackle that kind of backlog.

I'm having an awesome time on holiday, not much sex but that's because we're too exhausted from everything else.

Heard a story about someone's threesome last night, and another story about a crazy girl. We didn't get back until after 5 AM... fantastic night.

I hope you all enjoy whatever holiday you happen to be celebrating!

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Scheduled post. Enjoy!

A comment on slashdot regarding TV:
"It's just boring to sit down and talk about something. I do that already when I go out eat with my girlfriend and it's enough."
Seriously? I'm sure this fine gentleman had ladies chomping at the bit to be his girlfriend.

My husband and I talk all the time. If we do watch something then we sit down and talk about it afterward, or we talk about it snuggled together in bed, which really is our preferred method of talking and always has been.

Perhaps the online nature of the formation and initial growth stages of our relationship led to this apparently bizarre way we enjoy each other, but I like to think we just like each other a hell of a lot.

A sampling:

We were getting ready to go to bed and I had a bunch of things to say, that blanket doesn't go there, it's cold, how did you manage not to hear me when I was explaining this thing to you, etc.

He finally responded jokingly: "You complain a lot! I should probably beat you, but I'm too tired," and he climbed into bed with me and we laughed together.

He held me snuggled close to him and was explaining a problem he's having at work: "So there's a rectangle, and when you rotate it.."
I interrupted: "Is it on a plane?"
"A plane?"
"Yeah, a plane." I held my hand flat against his chest to indicate what I meant. It went over his head.
"No, love, it's not on a plane."
"So it's 3D?"
"What? No, I thought you meant an airplane. Yes, it's on a plane."
"I'm not stupid, baby."
"Well I am!"

I collapsed into giggles against his chest while he went on to explain the rest of the issue.

Kinky or not, we're talkers, and the hours can disappear and the daylight fade outside while we lie all tangled up in each other and just talk. It's really quite beautiful. When we've had great stretches of time alone, (hardly ever in the last few years) we've made love, talked, made love again, talked.

Boring? Not by a long shot, mister.

Maybe the problem with that commenter's conversations is himself.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Last hoorah

Scheduled post. :)

"How nice of you to be here for me," he said seductively as he climbed into bed behind me, running his hand from my hip to my breast and cupping it there.

"I'm not here for you." He'd gotten angry at me a bit earlier for some stupid thing, which never ever happens, and I was feeling a little put out.

"You're not? Who are you here for then?"

"Nobody, I'm just here."

He started hitting my ass, hard. "If you're not waiting for anybody, then I guess nobody will mind if I do things to you, huh? You really should be more careful of the things you say."

He slapped my breasts. After several moments he said "If only someone hadn't convinced me to pack away those toys. It's almost like I've been tricked."

I giggled.

"Oh, you think it's funny, huh?" He slapped each breast two more times. "I don't think it's funny at all. I wouldn't be laughing if I was you, there are still some things over here in this drawer." I heard clanking and I was confused. "Turn over," he whispered, "and you'll find out what it is." He slapped the vinyl belt hard against my ass and I squealed. "Ring any bells?" he asked as he hit me again and the smack resounded through the room. "It's loud enough to ring some bells." I started giggling. "It's loud enough to be a bell." I couldn't handle it, I giggled more and more and I curled into a little ball. "You know, loud noises aren't my favorite," he informed me softly, and started hitting me with his hand again, on my ass, my thighs, my breasts. My giggle-fit subsided slowly as he struck me.

"What are your favorite noises?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Mmm, they come from your mouth."

"Why are you hitting me anyway?"

"Because I can. To remind you who's in charge. Maybe to remind you I don't like it when you act all annoyed with me." He punctuated each sentence with a hard slap to a different part of my body.

"Did I do that?"

"Yes, earlier."

"You got angry with me!"

"Isn't that my right? If I want to get angry, can't I, without you turning all grumpy faced?" He kept hitting me.

"Yes, don't ever."

"I see... so I beat you, flog you, use you, but I never get angry at you?"


He didn't respond, but his fingers sought out my arousal, and he commented on how much I must like it. "No, no, no." I responded, denying it all. He seemed to disagree as his fingers easily slid against my aroused flesh.

"What we have here is a girl who gets more turned on the more I abuse her," he whispered to me as I protested. "No? I guess we'll see," he muttered, pulling his fingers away from my pussy and slapping my breasts. "See, you could get away.... or you could arch your back so your breasts are closer to my hands, as if to say 'Here they are, for you to use'... oh look, that's what you're doing." Again and again and again he hit me, then slipped his hand between my legs once more and pressed his fingers within me.

"You could get away if you wanted... but look, you just stay here and take it. You're mine, aren't you?" His fingers stroked inside me, pushing moans and gasps out of me, and then he pressed hard against my g-spot.

"Oh, fuck," I gasped, humping against his hand.

"What's that?" he asked. "Is there something you...want?"

"Fuck me," I pleaded, dropping every pretense in my need.

"Oh, you want to be fucked, do you?"


"Well, I've got this cock that needs sucking first," I whimpered pleadingly, really wanting him inside me. He grabbed my chin, "and you're gonna suck it for me. Be a good girl."

I moved down and slowly started to lick around the head of his cock. "It's big," I breathed out.

"You're the one who made it that way." I opened my mouth more and pressed down around him, taking him all the way to the back of my throat and then a bit farther, until sounds were forced out of me. He tossed his leg over my neck and tangled his hands in my hair, tugging on it and telling me what a good, sweet cocksucker I was. "This is where your face belongs, wrapped around my cock, being fucked." I started shoving myself as far as I could onto him, forcibly gagging myself, turned on beyond belief. He yanked my head off of him for a moment. "Too good, sometimes," he whispered before allowing me to suck him back inside.

After a time, he said "I believe I promised your pussy some of this cock, didn't I?" I moaned an affirmative around my mouthful, and he kept thrusting. "I guess you'd best save some for your pussy, then." I don't remember if he pushed me away or if I stopped on my own, but then he was ordering me to come up and turn over, and I did.

He pushed his cock inside me and we moved together for a long, glorious time, until I pulled away instead of pushing toward him. "Ooh, are you trying to get away from me?" he asked, pulling my hip hard against him.

"Nuh-uh," I said, well and truly possessed. I would never!

"Oh, then you want to be fucked somewhere else?"



I whimpered.

"Your ass?"


"You want this big hard thing," he pushed it firmly inside me, "in your ass?" he asked, his tone disbelieving.

"Mmhmm." My internal muscles clenched around him at the thought.

"Well.. I think we should give it to you." He turned his upper body to find the lube, and I bent forward, him thrusting into me the whole while.

He got the lube, and worked a finger inside my ass while his cock still plundered my pussy. I cried out "ohmygod."

"Mmm, you like that, huh? You like having your ass played with while I fuck your pussy?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He pulled away and repositioned his cock at my asshole, which had not been used for anything beyond a nicely tapered (although large) plug or a finger in much, much too long a time. He pushed and pushed and pushed, but it wasn't doing anything but teasing me. Finally he was inside and I was all-but-screaming with the immensely full feeling of it.

"Too much!" I cried out as he moved.

"Mmmm, take it, slut, you wanted it, now take it," he told me firmly. My leg crept backwards over his hip and he buried his fingers in my pussy, which was uselessly producing copious amounts of lubrication.

His fingers fucked my pussy, his thumb stroked against my clit and his cock moved in my ass and I was out of my mind. I just screamed "Oh, my, GOD," over and over. He talked about me being a good fuck toy, about needing all my holes fucked, about how he'd taken them all and he could take any part of me any time he wanted and I screamed with the pleasure and the joy of it all, occasionally agreeing with some question he'd ask.

When he finally came inside me he continued finger-fucking me. "I don't know how much of this I can take," I whispered when he didn't stop after my first orgasm.

"Mmm, let's find out," he told me wickedly, "because you're going to take it until I say it's enough. You're mine."

I couldn't tell you how many orgasms he ripped from me.

I could tell you that he pulled me close afterward, telling me how much he loved me, and we slept very well.

I could tell you he's magnificent and I adore him.

You probably know that already.

Have a nice weekend, everyone.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

One moment before I go

We'll be travelling for quite some time soon, and I don't know how much time I'll have for blogging.

Two nights ago we had fantastic sex that I can't remember well enough to write about - it's just a series of seemingly isolated moments and I have no timeline to arrange them upon.

Last night he pulled me close to him and snuggled me, said "Sleeping time is now," but then he started to kiss me.

He began to fondle my breasts; I could feel his erection growing against me and I couldn't just let that pass. "Hit me, please," I begged.

"Hit you?" he asked incredulously. "But won't that just get you worked up? And then I'll fall asleep..."

"That's okay... forewarned is forearmed," I stretched, offering my breasts. He hit them, spurring an "oh yes, more please," from within me. Heavy hard slaps fell on my soft flesh, and I begged for them again and again. His other hand that was wrapped around me started hitting my ass, and I pressed closer to him to give his arm more room. After a few moments he pushed me onto my back and went after my breasts again. He knocked against my jaw on one of his swings and he checked to see if I was okay. "I'm okay, I'm okay, don't stop," I gasped.

He'd stop once in a while to pinch and tug on my nipples, making me squeal. I was very turned on and I started humping the air as he hit me. "Silly slut, you know you can't have me, I'm too damn sleepy," he admonished me as he kept hitting me. My hand curled loosely around his cock and he thrust into it. That part of him wasn't sleepy. My breasts were very warm and my nipples were burning. After several minutes, I turned on my side away from him and positioned myself so his cock could slide along my pussy when he humped, my leg tossed back over his hip. "What are you doing with my cock?" he asked suspiciously.

"Feeling it," I purred, making lots of little pleased noises as he moved his cock against my desire-slick membranes. Eventually it was too much teasing for me and I made the small adjustment in my position that made his entering me more possible. His next thrust opened me and pushed inside, and we both moaned with pleasure.

"How does it feel like that?" he asked, like he didn't know.

"Very nice," I responded, as he moved within me. Heck yeah it felt very nice.

We moved together; I tried to make most of the effort because I knew he really was tired. He wrapped his hand around my jaw and sank a finger into my mouth, his other hand fondling my breasts, stroking my skin, then playing with my clit.

He finished with a groan, then he actually had it in him to give me an orgasm too.

I was impressed, delighted, and mostly boneless.

I snuggled against him. "That was damn good for a sleepy man," I whispered, "not that I'm saying it was your best."

"I would certainly hope you're not!" he responded, pulling me tight against him.

Sleepy sex and deep sleep wrapped in my lover's arms. Fantastic.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Symbiotic relationships: where angst fears to tread

This is my hundredth published post. I had a whole long post about the trials of my life all ready to go for number 100, but that seems wrong, somehow.

It's Christmas! Some really terrible things have happened to my family and property back home this weekend, but I have my love, my child, and I do have some really fantastic friends and family even if I never do get to see them. So I am trying to be happy, to count my blessings. The other post can sit and wait a while.

While we were snuggled together grieving over one of the terrible events, this conversation transpired between my husband and I while our child was busy trying to separate us.

"This little person seems to think we're two people or something," I observed.
"Yeah, funny, that."
"You are part of me, aren't you?"
"A part that likes to hurt me?"
"Yeah," he nodded, "are you a part of me that likes to be hurt?"
"Mmhmm," I buried my face into his shirt.
"Thought so," he said smugly, squeezing me tightly against himself.

That exchange has been stewing in my head all day. It's true, we're those people, the ones that make people roll their eyes and fake-gag, the ones that don't go anywhere without each other, the ones that actually get irritated when couples events are divided into "girls decorate ornaments, guys play cards." Screw that, I want to do stuff with this man, not separately from him. Besides, those events are so diluted for general consumption that they're practically meaningless, surely. My man isn't interested in cards for the sake of cards, I know.

So, if you're in one of this beautifully symbiotic relationships with your other half, and if, like me, you sometimes come to question the validity of your desires, stop it.

These guys? No angst. None.
When your back itches, you scratch it or you find someone who will. You don't mumble to yourself about your stupid back needing to be scratched, what the hell is wrong with the stupid retarded back, normal people's backs don't itch. Yours itches, so you scratch it. If your head aches, you lie down or you take something or you remove yourself from the thing that started it aching. You deal with your parts on their terms, and you do what needs doing to them to keep them as happy as you can, to maintain good working order of yourself as a whole.

If you're in a dedicated relationship with a person, you're part of each other. You scratch each others' itches because that's what the hand does for the back, or the head, or the balls.

Angst over "does s/he" or "should I" has no place in this sort of relationship. I have absolutely no qualms asking my husband to literally scratch a part of my back I can't reach. He even lets me grab his arm by the elbow and stick his hand wherever I want it to scratch! That right there is fabulous, you guys should try it. Seriously.

So then why do I often try to work myself into knots about my sexual desires? He's not working himself into knots. He just does what he does. The fact that I'm submissive shouldn't come into play as a bother here - he has no qualms, he's not concerned about anything, so neither should I be. He's not complaining because his figurative back itches, he just scratches it.

I'm going to stop it.

I'm going to simply be thankful for the blessing of deliciously kinky sex, and all the itches that get scratched between us.

Friday, December 9, 2011


He forgot the details of a conversation we'd had about transportation, twice. The first time was one thing, but the second time I just said "You realize that means we need to leave now, right?" and I went to quickly get ready to go. If he hadn't wanted to take us he could have just said he didn't feel like it, not repeatedly "forget." I also felt like the extra time with me meant nothing to him vs. his own inconvenience.

Anyway, it was over, I was going to drive. He tried to hold me in place for the extra hour, but I eventually managed to convince him to let me go. It's not really quality time if I'm just trying to leave the whole time.

Hours later, after the outing, we went to bed. I kept to my side and laid flat on my back.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked.

"No." I wasn't, really. I was just saddened and frustrated by the entire situation.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

A nightmare

Yesterday I read this post by faerie, and it struck a chord with me that vibrated the rest of the day, and apparently into the night. I think a trigger warning might be appropriate right here too.

Thankfully my situation never became like hers, my mom took me and left my dad as soon as he began showing strange interests in me when I was around 3, so I don't know if it would have escalated or not. He's dead now and I never had a conversation with him - the one memory I have of him is of torturous neglect bordering on abuse.

I still have contact with his family though, and I'll be visiting them this holiday season. Faerie's post and this fact seem to have combined to give me a nightmare that was truly terrifying.

The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza 2011

Organized by the awesome Jz, and I'm thrilled to be participating!

Chocolate chip coconut cookies:

Scrambling to create a recipe, I kind of stumbled on this one during Thanksgiving prep.

The holidays have always meant coconut to me, probably something to do with the coconut candy my grandfather always brought home from the local mom & pop grocery store.  I've seen similarly shaped and colored candies in big box stores in my adulthood, but they lacked the soft suppleness of the ones from my younger days. Sadly, that grocery store is long out of business, though thankfully a local man runs a hardware shop in the building, which is by far better than it being torn down.

I'm nowhere near that town right now, but I still take comfort in knowing these small details.

So, these cookies are mostly coconut, but all around the edges and on the bottoms it becomes crunchy and it kind of dissolves in your mouth like fabulous sugary wonderfulness.


1 cup sweetened coconut flakes
1/2 cup all-purpose flour (unbleached preferably)
1/4 cup confectioner's sugar
dash salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract (optional, but awesome)
3 tablespoons coconut oil, melted
2 tablespoons mini chocolate chips (or more if you like a lot of chocolate)


Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Mix the coconut, flour, sugar, and salt together
Pour the melted coconut oil and extracts over and work until moistened throughout
Add the chocolate chips and mix.

Form thin-(ish) cookies with your hands, then place them about half an inch apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake for around 12-15 minutes, until the cookies look crispy around the edges and toasted on top.

Remove cookies from oven, let cool on pan for several minutes, then remove carefully with spatula to a cooler spot. Cooling is very important with these cookies, they'll turn crispier as they cool and be much more awesome.

In our family of 3 adults and 1 child, my cookies were gone before the day was out.

Here's the list of everyone else who's participating, looks like an even 40, including me:

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

How does he do it?

I was sitting at the table, commenting on someone's blog, and he came over to see what I was doing.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Just checking on you," he responded, kissing my cheek, threading his hand through my hair at the back of my head, and pulling firmly, just once, just enough. Right there in the room with my mom! Such a thrill.

Later, there was sex.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Late-night scene


Got my ass belted, for nothing in particular.

I was kneeling, folded up, my face down on a pillow and my arms out, palms pressed against the wall. I just sort of folded up into that position when we went to bed, exhausted from a long day of fun. I had no idea we were about to do anything but sleep.

"What are you doing?" he asked me, a little amused by the position I was in.

"Nothing," I responded, my voice muffled by the pillow.

"I think your ass wants some attention," he said while he slowly rubbed his hand across it.

"Is that right?" I wonder what could possibly give him that idea? This was one time I would actually have been okay with sleeping. Not that I'm complaining, mind!

"Oh, yeah." I heard the clink of a buckle and then heard the loud slap of a belt against the curve of my posterior. I drew in breath sharply as the next slap landed, a little higher. That hurt, dammit. WTF. He miraculously landed three blows in the same spot, and I moved forward to get away from the burning pain but quickly settled myself back into position. "That's right, little bitch, you take what I give you, don't you?" He was really getting into it, and I kept moving up-and-down on my knees in the vain hope that the next blow wouldn't land on already marked flesh. Squeals I was no longer able to muffle spilled between the lips I was biting in order to keep the noise down. He hit my lower back, the curve of my ass, the backs of my thighs, but most of the pain was focused on the top half of my right cheek. It burned like crazy.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Vibrations without batteries

We went to bed insanely early (like 8 PM), he held me and we talked for a long, long time.

I told him if he has irritants that he can't work out of his system I'd be awfully pleased if he'd work them out on me.

He asked me to teach him something. Out of the blue, just, "Teach me something."

I stammered for a while, unsure what to say before I finally stumbled onto something.

"You don't like to bind me much, and that makes me sad," I told him quietly, normally, like that's something a person says to another person. It's so bizarre, This Thing We Do.

He responded that he doesn't like to fumble, and so I told him he can tell me what to do, to put my limbs in position and tell me not to move. While that's perhaps not as satisfying as rope or cuffs, it's a lot better than nothing at all.

Then he asked me about role play, and how one starts it. "Don't you remember?" I asked him. It's not like we've never played roles before, but admittedly, it's been quite a long time.

We talked and talked and talked. I love talking to him; he makes me feel normal, just by his complete acceptance.

He turned the lights off and did stuff to me, but of course I don't remember it all. He put my hands over my head and told me to keep them the hell out of his way and to make sure not to touch him, then he flogged my thighs and breasts hard. "Take your shirt off!" he barked at me when it fell down from where he had shoved it and covered one of my breasts. I rolled on my side to do it and he flogged my ass while my back was turned. "Good girl," he told me when I rolled onto my back again.

I didn't feel like a particularly good girl. I felt like a hurting girl; my thighs were stinging and it was all I could do to keep them open. I can't take as much pain there as I can on my breasts, but he seems determined to hurt me more there. He sucked on one nipple while he flogged the other one and I actually screamed once in mid-sigh. The scream was more from surprise at the sudden impact than the pain, although it did hurt quite a bit.

He made me suck his cock, told me I could use my hands but not to touch anything but his legs and cock, so I was careful. He fucked my face violently, flogging my ass while he did. I was gasping and shuddering by the time he pulled away and ordered me atop him. "Get up here and fuck this cock for me," he told me roughly. "That's a good fuck toy," he whispered as I settled down over his hardness, "and now, since you get the cock, I get to play with these breasts. They are for my amusement, right?" He played with them and tugged on and squeezed my nipples, drawing little "oh, oh, oh" cries from me. I tried to sit all the way up and rock like that, but the intensity of the position knocked me forward - he forced me to stay mostly upright with his hands gripping my breasts, until finally he let me bend more, much to my relief. It was pretty hard to do all that without touching his upper body too...

My legs were wearing out at one point, and the intensity was overwhelming me. I started grunting small little "nuh-uh" noises, and he slapped my ass and said "What? You don't get to say nuh-uh, you get to fuck me until I'm done. Fuck toys don't get to say no."

He made me ride him until he spent himself, although he did finally let me touch him when I begged.

Afterward, while he held me, he shoved two fingers in my mouth, ordering me to suck. My left leg was bent slightly as I lay on my back, and my entire thigh started vibrating while I sucked his fingers. I'm not talking exhaustion tremors, we're talking full-on battery-operated vibration. I had no control over the damn thing, and at first I thought it was something he was doing to my leg with his other hand while I sucked. It was quite titillating at the time.

I pulled my mouth off his fingers long enough to ask what the hell  he was doing to me... and it turns out, nothing at all. He put his hand on my thigh and felt the vibrations there, and he freaked out. "Stop it!" he told me. No dice. I can't comply with an order if I can't control whatever's going on.

So weird.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Polishing up lovemaking

A few days ago, while having a conversation about my blog, my husband said "I dunno. It seems like you take the act of our lovemaking and... polish it up."

I stared at him, my mouth open. "I do what now?"

"You know, you make me sound less awkward and stuff."

"Oh, baby, you are not awkward. You are so not awkward."

This is what I mean when I say I'm missing half of what's going on.. how does he take the things that go on between us and come away from that thinking he's awkward?

Last night he flogged my inner thighs until I screamed and tried to close my legs, and then he forced them open again and kept flogging them, tossing a few strikes to my breasts when he felt like it. Was I in any condition to think he was awkward? No. I wasn't in any condition to think much of anything.

Most of the time I look at something I've written and I think "No, no. That's not quite it." My writing comes close, but it still fails to completely capture the magnificence of our interactions. 

I do not polish anything up.

Silly man.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Ruminations on Hannah Cullwick

Happy December, everybody! Isn't life fantastic?

I've been reading this fabulous book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life. The book is awesome, but it's taking me forever to read it (months!) because it gives short descriptions of all of these fascinating topics, which then causes me to research each one more in-depth. It's really a great book. In it, Bill Bryson mentions Hannah Cullwick (1833-1909), a woman diarist and servant who wound up secretly married to a higher-class gentleman.

Hannah was a kinkster, you guys. No lie.  
She would have probably been a blogger if she had the tech. Check out the chain around her neck, the strap on her wrist. Did I mention that this is a topless photo of a woman taken before the turn of the 20th century, and not for public consumption, but for private perusal? If you do a google image search for her, you'll find other images. There was an independent film done about her writings as well. It's all very interesting and sheds a completely different light on what life was like at that time - for me, anyway. You think of people being prim and proper and, well, Victorian. These guys were living the life - before easy birth control. It's amazing! 
Have any of you heard of her?  

From wikipedia: 
Cullwick proudly referred to herself as Munby's "drudge and slave", and called him "Massa", an example of a Master/slave relationship. For much of her life, she wore a leather strap around her right wrist and a locking chain around her neck, to which Munby had a key. She wrote letters almost daily to him, describing her long hours of work in great detail. She would arrange to visit him "in my dirt", showing the results of a full day of cleaning and other domestic work. She had a particular interest in boots, cleaning hundreds each year, sometimes by licking them. She once told Munby she could tell where her "Massa" had been by how his boots tasted.

Despite her display of subservience and loyalty, Cullwick remained independent. She stood up for herself if she thought the terms of her relationship with Munby were being violated. She entered marriage with Munby reluctantly, seeing it as dependency and boredom. They were secretly married in 1873, after which she moved to his lodgings, where she lived as his servant, though she sometimes played the role of his wife. She also retained her own surname and insisted that Munby continue to pay her wages, and she had her own savings. She left him far more often than he did her, and in 1877 she returned to working as a servant in Shropshire. Munby was a regular visitor from 1882 until her death.
Her diaries reveal that the erotic games with Munby often included infantilism and ageplay, with Cullwick carrying Munby in her arms and holding him on her lap.

Cullwick appeared in Munby's photographs in many different roles: a farm girl, a kitchen drudge, a chimney sweep with blackface, a well-dressed lady (though with her hands, unmistakably those of a working woman, prominently displayed), a Magdalen, and even a man. Her ability to take different roles delighted Munby.
Kink isn't new, not a bit, we just have a stronger grasp on how many people are practicing kink due to our fabulous wealth of information. Bill Bryson doesn't mention the M/s aspect of this relationship, merely using the diary itself as a window into the world of servants of that era - but Hannah Cullwick hardly seems to be a "typical" servant, now does she? He does mention how even getting a bath seems to be a major accomplishment for her, as she often sleeps "in my dirt," but I'm not entirely sure that's not a kink itself. The diaries were apparently written for her "massa," at his request, too.

What kind of examinations do you think our blogs will get, a hundred+ years from now? Will they just fade from existence, be deleted on a whim, or relegated to the background noise of ten million self-publishers? I'm making some effort to preserve mine. There may be a lot more windows into existence now than there were then, but private life is still quite hidden, mysterious, and fascinating.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Blast from the past

I found this and thought I'd share it here..

I showed this to my husband in 2008, but I believe it's a journal entry from years before that. I don't currently have access to my journals, so I can't date it exactly.

My husband amazes me sometimes. He made love to me endlessly last night.. it was glorious.

He'd started rubbing my nipples, and I asked "Aren't you a married man?"
"Yeah, of course," he responded.
"Should a married man really be rubbing a girl's nipples like this?"
"Oh, my wife doesn't mind, she wants me to practice."

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

A primer for punctuating dialogue

I like to write. I like to read, too, but as I've mentioned before, bad writing just stops me in my tracks. It doesn't matter how wonderful an imagination an author might have if I'm getting stuck on the badly punctuated dialogue. It's especially bad for me, since dialogue is so important to my arousal. If you're trying to turn people on, you need to also pay attention to your mechanics and form, not just content. Good form isn't just for academics, you know.

So, with that, I thought I would share rules for punctuating dialogue! I'm going with American rules here, no offense intended to Brits, who have slightly different rules. 

1. Use a comma between the dialogue and the words used to identify the speaker.
"Please please fuck me now," she begged him, unable to stand the teasing any longer.
2. Periods and commas go inside the quotation marks; other punctuation like semicolons, question marks, and exclamation points goes outside unless it is part of the the quote, as in this example:
"Get over here and suck my cock," he said dangerously. "Or would you rather I flog you?" he asked, a glint of amusement in his eye.
The next example is not terribly common, I just include it for completeness. The question mark goes outside the quotation marks because it is not part of the quote:
Did he really just say, "You should try the biggest butt plug"?
The sentence ends with only punctuation mark: the question mark. Do not use double punctuation marks, just keep the stronger punctuation. Question marks and exclamation points are stronger than periods and commas.

3. When a tag line (speaker identification) interrupts a sentence, it should be set off by commas. The first letter of the second half of the sentence is in lower case - you're just continuing the sentence, not starting a new one.
"So," he whispered into my ear, "what shall I do with a horny little slut like you?"
4. For a quotation within a quotation, use single quotes, though I don't think this is terribly common in erotica:
"Have you read 'Deep Throat Made Easy' yet?" he asked her offhandedly.
5. If a quotation is more than one paragraph long, don't use end quotes at the close of the first paragraph. Use them only when a character is done speaking.

If you care about your writing, you'll care about this. If you're just spewing your fantasies forth with no regard for anyone who might be reading it, then there's nothing I can say to convince you otherwise, and I wish you well anyway.

Happy writing!

Monday, November 28, 2011

Tipping point

A warning: this is long.

I've spent the last few days in a quandary. We've talked a lot, had wonderful conversations, he's been generally fantastic, and we've had lots of different kinds of amazing sex. But still, some things he's said had left niggling doubts in my mind, even if he'd never intended them to. I've written several posts and not posted them, about the nature of D/s, about my lack of willingness to continue on like this, and about the things we've done. I could never get up the nerve to share. I'm going to share this one.

I took the loudest toys - the floggers, the belt, the paddle. I put them away. It wasn't a random act, but the result of several of the conversations we'd had, none of which led directly to this place, but I was beginning to feel worse and worse about leading him to do the things he does to me based on offhanded comments he's made. One of the posts I haven't posted was even titled "Done."

This was apparently a bad, bad idea. I should have talked to him about it, I know. But I was too humiliated to have the "I know you don't get off on this" conversation, and I thought I'd do it the next day. Of course, it didn't occur to me that he might want those things more immediately. We'd made amazing love the night before, it was beautiful, perfect; I actually said "I never want this to end" during it. So I thought he probably wouldn't need them this night. I was wrong.

Heads-up for bloggers

I don't know how many of you use google analytics to track your blog stats - but my husband has brought this to my attention. When I bristled at the suggestion that I'd do such a thing, he said "Yeah, but you might want to...share?"

Basically, fellow bloggers, if you use google analytics to track the blogs where you wish to remain anonymous, make sure it's completely separate from any tracking of non-anonymous blogs. If you use the same analytics account to track both kinds, then someone can quickly and easily find out who you are.

Read about it here

Friday, November 25, 2011

Response time is now immediate

"Kiss me."


"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said kiss me."


He took my face, turned it toward him, kissed me. I responded reluctantly. Too much thinking on my part about what he really wants leads to these situations. I worry too much about what he really wants and fail to respond to what he's actually asking for.

"Who do you think you are anyway? What are you thinking?"

"Should I kiss him?"

"And what did you decide?"

"I hadn't decided yet."

"I see. I think you've forgotten who's in charge here." He went rummaging for toys, then told me to turn over.


"Turn over!" he shoved me over. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"


"Why do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Because you were in the drawer with the hurty things."

"Aha, but would I hurt you for no reason?"


"Okay. Well, I might. But is it likely that I would hurt you for no reason?"


"Okay, good. So then why do you think I'm going to hurt you now?"

"Because I didn't kiss you."

"Aha. There you go. You just decided not to kiss me."

"I did not! I hadn't decided yet."

"But you don't get to decide. There's no 'thinking about' kissing me. When I say kiss me, you kiss me." He rubbed my ass with the edge of the paddle as he spoke. "Do you understand?"


He struck me. "Good." He hit me several times with the paddle, then "How does that feel?" When I didn't respond immediately he repeated himself sharply.

"It.. it stings."

"But you don't seem particularly afraid of it."


He put it down then, and the long heavy flogger hit me then. "How about this? Does it 'sting' too?"

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Giving thanks

Life is excellent.

I have my Great Love, the one that makes everything else pale, the kind storytellers have told stories about since time began.

I have a wonderful child who is growing up way, way too fast.

I have friends, those here in the blogosphere and those elsewhere in the world. None of them are geographically near me currently, but beyond a little frustration that we can't just "hang out," it's still awesome to have so many truly excellent friends. They are absolutely worthwhile too - for who would bother maintaining a friendship over many years of distance without any worth in it?

I have amazing sex. Not just regularly, but frequently.

I have a lot of events to attend in the next couple of weeks!

I have tickets home for Christmas. (and friends there, yay!)

I have some fantastic vegan recipes to make.

All of these things I am thankful for, and more besides.

I am thankful for every person reading this right now.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

A funny

This was part of an exchange on an article about a woman putting up a joke craigslist ad putting her husband up for sale for playing too many video games. I laughed very hard when I read this snippet. Enjoy sex for 3-5 minutes? What poor sap out there is only enjoying sex for 3-5 minutes? Discuss!

To your scattered ramblings go

We were having some awesome sex when our little one started screaming to wake the dead. Poor little thing has a cold now too and couldn't breathe.

We had a funny conversation though as well, in the aftermath of settling the child.

It even had a title.

"Things we'd say to our 18-year old selves to freak them out and blow their minds."
We were 18 when we first met each other.

Me to him:
"See that girl? One day she's going to be begging to suck your cock."
"See that girl? One day she's going to beg to have you hurt her and fuck her multiple times a day, and you won't even know how to respond."

Him to me:
"See that guy? You're going to like him. A LOT."
"One day you'll be begging me to suck my cock." (aside, to me in the present) "See? You wouldn't believe it either."

Him to himself:
"One day, you're going to have sex. More than once!"


Then there's the dream!

I dreamed that my husband's older brother - my husband does not have an older brother - started hanging out with me a lot, eventually progressing to holding me in bed. He was whispering things to me, this nonexistent brother - "I love holding you like this, I love hanging out with you, I love.."

I broke in - "I love you."

He stopped, froze, didn't move. Some weird dream movements happened, and I was next to the bed, doing something. Some time seemed to have passed. He was still there, looking at me, pondering. A random person came in and sat on the bed, fiddling with something. We didn't speak for a while because we were embarrassed about this person hearing us. Eventually we decided we'd have to talk with that person there, but in low voices.

My husband's nonexistent, nameless brother reached across the bed, clutching at me, pulling me close enough I could hear his whisper. I can still feel his grip on my shoulder. "Listen," he said, "if you don't think you can fulfill your promises to my brother.." he said this like a man who's about to suggest we run away together.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I was outraged. The very suggestion that I wouldn't love my husband anymore just because I also had some deep affection for this man! How dare he question the depth of our True Love!?

The dream kind of dissolved with my anger.... but now I'm left missing this person.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

It just gets better

My last couple of nights have been incredible.

I sucked his toes and he really got off on that. A few "oh fuck yeah"s were uttered by him. That was fantastic. His big toes fit perfectly against the roof of my mouth. I was there for a long time.

I love it when he uses my body to warm himself, taking my warmth for his own comfort. Especially when he just outright orders me to give him my warmth. "Warm my feet."

Wow. It sounds inane, like that, but it makes my stomach flutter and my heart pound.

So that leads us to last night. He told me to warm his feet, and I melted against him and took his feet between my thighs, resting my head on his belly. He stroked my hair and told me I was a good girl. My hand stroked his heels. He murmured lovely things about how good I felt.

Monday, November 21, 2011


I wasn't paying enough attention.

In my defense, he didn't tell me to put the book down.

To be honest, I thought if I tried hard enough to be non responsive that he'd give up and go away - while also secretly hoping that he'd persevere, notice, and not go away at all. The strange thing is that I want both of those things simultaneously. If the first outcome occurs, I'm justified in having behaved the way I did in the first place since he clearly wasn't that interested after all, and if the second outcome occurs, I get laid. I want to get laid more, but I nearly always have myself convinced that I prefer to be justified.

He slid under the covers next to me, chatted to me a bit about the book I was reading, slid his finger under the waistband of my panties and asked "Um, what's this?"


"Why are you wearing it?"

"Because I am?" There's no rule that says I can't. I didn't say this because the last time I voiced it he responded with "Yet."

"I see," he responded, then ducked his head underneath the blankets, disappearing.

"What are you doing?" I asked, momentarily alarmed, disconcerted, things not going like I had thought they would at all.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Not buying it

I was throwing a fit, basically. Not intentionally, I just wanted to get away, to not be reminded of what wasn't happening, of my own inadequacies.

It's so frustrating to want something, but only on certain terms.

He fell asleep. I finally felt more or less okay, just a stray cough here and there, and he fell asleep. I moved to get up, to come use the computer in the kitchen. He stirred and told me to lie back down; I refused. I got up, walked around the bed, and I heard him get up too. Not wanting him to follow me, I stopped in the alcove at the bedroom's entrance, bracing my arms on the walls to either side of me. He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me.

"Get back in bed," he whispered against my hair.

"No, husband." I responded sadly. "You get back in bed."

"Let me fix it, baby. I can't fix you being sick, but let me fix this. Get back in bed."

"It won't fix it. It'll just make it worse. It's so frustrating being me." My voice broke on "frustrating," tears dangerously close. I laughed a small laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He responded to the laugh with one of his own. "I know." His strong arms started prying my hands away from the wall. I resisted, squirming away, planting my hands more firmly against the wall.  A ridiculous struggle ensued, but then he had my hands and he held me against his chest.

"No, husband," I whispered against his shirt. "No, no."

"I told you to get back in the bed. Now do it." I shook my head stubbornly. He got behind me after another struggle, his arms wrapped around me, keeping my arms from bracing against the walls again. "Move."

"No, no, no."

His knees bent into the backs of mine, forcing my legs to bend. He lifted my bent leg against his, forcing it forward. Two of his steps and we were back to the bed, where he practically threw me. "I said get in bed."

I whimpered, sad, defeated, resigned to this thing I had forced into happening, but determined not to respond to it.

"I have to punish you now, you know. It's one thing if I have to tell you twice, or three times, but by the third time you really should obey me." He took off my clothes, then held the blanket up for me and ordered me under it.

Then other things happened involving a flogger, and hot sex with a lot of throat holding. Followed by more sex in the morning. My resolve not to respond to any of it pretty much dissolved with the first blow of the flogger on my breast. If he's not for real, he's very, very convincing.

Ideal, really, and the sex (both times) was awesome. I'm still not sure how I feel about all of it, though. I tell myself it shouldn't even matter as long as we both enjoyed ourselves, but I'm not buying it.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Sicky sex

It's all kind of disjointed, honestly. My sedated state left something to be desired for my ability to remember.

So here are the bits I remember:

"I should probably be gentle with you, poor thing."

I shrugged, not really caring one way or the other. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Well, is there anything you're wishing 'God I hope he doesn't?'"


- - - - - - -

"You're mine. Even in this fragile state, I can do anything I want with you. Though I probably shouldn't abuse your poor throat."

I laughed hoarsely, "I'd appreciate that a lot."

He grabbed my head with both of his hands and asked, "You miss sucking my cock, don't you? You like it when I hold your head between my hands like this and fuck your face."

- - - - - - -

He started slapping my breasts hard enough to force gasps from me. "Of course, being unable to fuck your face does decrease your value to me somewhat."

His hand wandered downward and he yanked my legs open, then left a stinging blow on my inner thigh. I yelped in surprise and he continued alternately striking and stroking me there. "Thankfully you do have other holes for me to fuck."

- - - - - - - -

"Tell me what you want." A harsh command out of nowhere - what, already? We'd barely begun. I shook my head and made a negative noise. He slapped my breasts, "Tell me."

I shook my head again. "What? You're not going to tell me?" he hit my breasts harder. "I want to hear it."

I refused to say anything again. I just didn't want anything at this point. He struck my pussy, saying "I guess it's up to me to decide what you want then. Turn over."

I did. He slapped my ass, my hip, then grabbed me and pulled me back towards him. I whimpered. "It's big."

"That's your fault."

- - - - - - - -

With one palm flat against my shoulder, the fingers against my neck, he tangled the other in my hair and pulled it firmly back toward him. My neck tried to bend back toward him but it couldn't - his other hand stopped me. He whispered dirty words as he pulled, thrusting into me, and I cried out loudly with the intensity of it.

That was the best bit, and the last thing I really remember.

Oh! The liberator wedge, not just for sex. It makes an awesome pillow to prop up a sicky so she can breathe at night. Way to suck the eroticism right out of it, right?


Thursday, November 17, 2011

Creeping crud

I had a good time accompanying my husband on his business trip.

Sex did not happen. Not so much as a fondle. It's been a long, long time; several days have passed at least. I enjoyed exploring the city, even though I did it mostly on my own. I walked for miles, I sampled the local cuisine, I took a guided tour. It was really nice.

Now I'm sick from wandering around in the cold and the damp. Who knows if I'll ever get laid again? I certainly don't.

It's okay though, he still snuggles just as excellently.

Now to make plans for a lonely, lonely Thanksgiving.

I'm joining in on Jz's recipe exchange though, so that'll add a bit of excitement to my holidays, and then it'll be home for Christmas!

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Versatile Blogger Awards

Okay, so two lovely folks (pepper and cuddlykitten) have given me Versatile Blogger Awards. This appears to be a sort of community-building award with lots of link reciprocity, a way of saying "Hey guys, check out these blogs, they rock!" Increased awareness of awesome blogs is a result.

I'm beyond honored, guys. Thanks for saying such nice things about me!

Okay, so here are the rules:

1. Thank the award giver and link back to them in your post.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Pass this award along to 15 blogs you enjoy reading.
4. Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know about the award.

I already thanked you guys, but thanks, again!
Tales of a Spicy Slave
Finding Myself

Seven things about me that you guys don't know? That's actually a lot harder than it looks.

1. Today I was stopped on the street in this strange city by an American Red Cross volunteer and I agreed to donate a monthly sum to them. The other volunteers further down the street high-fived me as I walked down and told me I was fantastic.

2. I love gardening, programming, traveling, reading, learning, baking, building, planning, yard sales, good science fiction/fantasy, and sex. Not necessarily in that order.

3. I graduated from my university with a 4.0

4. I firmly believe that you can do anything possible if you put your mind to it. I exclude the "impossible" things like flying without aid.

5. Indian food. Just medium spicy. Oh yeah.

6. I love to cook but I love it best when I cook with my man.

7. Oh, here's an interesting one. When I was really really young I would pretend I was captured Rainbow Brite and hook my panties over my bed post while I was wearing them and "struggle" to "get away."

Blogs I enjoy, in no particular order at all:

Sexual Dynamics: Memoirs of a Discerning Dom
I love the way he writes. I love the bits of very short fiction interspersed with real discussions. I love the point of view.

From Vanilla to Dom
Oh, maui girl is awesome. Not only does she write a fabulous blog, but she has seemingly endless reserves of patience while slowly working her relationship to where it works best for both of them.

The Pervocracy
Holly does not need my pathetic little link to her blog, but I can't make a list of blogs I enjoy without it. She writes very well about very touchy topics, and Cosmocking? Sheer genuis!

The Black Leather Belt
Lily does not need my link either. I won't even try to describe the blog, but the writing is wonderful.

You know this list wasn't going down without it. I can't help it. It's hilarious.

Past the Hurt
Rogue Bambi writes with such heartfelt honesty that I can feel her frustrations and her joys. Oh, also there's hot sex.

At Longing's End
Mina and Sylvanus both share their perspectives from within their non-monogamous marriage. A great read.

Ravaged Ragdoll
Melody is so sweet and her struggles with chronic pain break my heart. How one can find the energy for sex play with all that going on I don't even know, but she does!

I know, I know, that she is a mature professional woman. But she gets so excited that her enthusiasm comes across and I just want to squeal like a child with her.

The Heron Clan
These three have been through a lot, and they're still together, still in love. It's awfully impressive.

Duality of Pain
Duality and his Grace. It's awesome to read about their dynamic and the interesting effects a chronic pain condition have on sex. It's an awesome relationship, though I gather they've been through their own storms. They've come through it even stronger.

t1klish has a lot to say, but she says it in bite-sized chunks that are easy to process and matter-of-fact. She knows fantasy from reality and is not afraid to point it out.

A Dauntless Journey
DV hardly needs a blurb. Everyone knows him already, right? He's awesome.

Submissive Sanctuary
lil is so funny. I got some vicarious gardening angst off of her this harvest. She's also not afraid of introspection.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Making the world a better place

Sex is such a taboo.

As far as mass entertainment goes, even those television shows that imply a lot of sex show it as a base urge that is impossible to control, and that's just the ordinary vanilla kind. Movies can get rated R for nudity just as for violence. It doesn't make any sense that the nude body is just as in need of hiding from children as destruction of that body.

Even beginning to talk about sex in the most basic sense is virtually impossible with most of my family - not eroticism, but just conversation about biological structures that are involved in sex. Thankfully I was raised with less strictures, but this leads to shocked, appalled looks directed at me by my cousins when I even indirectly refer to, say, a clitoris. It's disturbing to me that the veil of privacy is so thick with them that it extends to even conversation about body parts that are involved in sex.

Sex is not a disgusting, base human urge that must be suppressed or hidden when one doesn't succeed at suppressing it. It's certainly not only for reproduction, despite some of my acquaintances' opinions on that. It's beautiful and fascinating, amazing, liberating. It feels incredible.

There are places in the world where people are still being stoned to death for having sex. Seriously. Regardless of the "guilt" or "innocence" of the accused, having consensual sex is not something to punish someone for, much less kill. I've also read news items where a young girl was stoned to death for having been raped.

This is not acceptable. We're in the year 2k+, why is this shit still going down? Oh, because sex is wrong, that's right. A beautiful expression of humanity turned into something dark and ugly to be avoided at all costs. It's more wrong, more barbaric, than throwing rocks at a helpless woman until she is dead. 

Homosexual? Polyamorous? Kink. BDSM. Oh, wow. Certainly we can't talk about those things. We're going to get angry if some bit of entertainment forces us into a dialogue about any of these things. By Jove, we'll complain.


"Think of the children."

Seriously? The children? If the children are kinky, they're kinky. All a bit of dialogue is going to do is make them feel more accepted and 'normal' as they grow into themselves. I'm certainly not suggesting that we have full transparency of our sex lives with our children, 'cause, ew, but freaking out when something comes up is certainly not going to help. A bit of kink (or homosexuality, or anything!)  in your entertainment is not going to turn your children to that thing. The only thing it will do is make your children know that these sorts of things go on, and are acceptable. 

We've been rewatching The Next Generation lately, and I'm very appreciative of just how much sex is implied to go on there and how not hung up on it they are. It's not "OOOH SEX OH SEX SEX SEX," but it's more like "Ahh, sex. Sex is nice. All right, now on with it." You don't see that kind of behavior in many shows. It's handled well here too because if you know, you'll know. If you don't know, it just kind of goes over your head. Probing questions avoided until that age of awareness is reached. Family friendly, indeed.

So I add my voice to the thousands out here on the world wide web, talking about sex. What kind of sex I have, what it does for me, how absolutely wonderful it is. I'm am a little dismayed at the need for anonymity, but one does what one can. I can only put out there that sex is most definitely not wrong, as loudly and as often as I can.

We're chipping away at the taboo. One day I hope my child will be able to have a grown-up conversation about sex without anyone freaking the hell out.

Sunday, November 13, 2011


"Are you my fuck toy?" He asked me roughly as he played with my nipples, in the aftermath of a hard flogging.


"Tell me."

I whimpered.

"Go on, I want to hear you say it."

I whimpered again. Too hard. It's difficult, but I can say this stuff in the midst of sexual haze, but like this? So hard.

"I'm waiting."

"I'm your fuck toy." I whispered, my throat trying to seize the words back as they crept out.

"Mmm, that's a good girl. Tell me you're for me to use."

Another whimper escaped me, but this one was easier. "I'm for you to use."

"Oh yeah... now, tell me you're my slut."

Hard. Oh, lord, hard. I whimpered, hoping he'd relent, forget, continue with the sex play we were already in the midst of.

"Come on, you can do it."

I whimpered again, pleadingly.

"Be a good girl. Tell me." He pinched my nipple hard, and a little scream escaped me.

"I'm your slut." In my smallest possible voice, the words haltingly escaped me.

"Good girl." His lips claimed mine in a searing kiss.

Trust and submission

I've mentioned a few times that I had a previous relationship. I was deeply in love with him. He was smart, a year or so older than I was. He was also a bad, bad person who broke my heart not once, but twice. I was 18 when I met him in the very same online community where I met my now-husband. He was a "bad boy" in geek circles, a "hacker" in the sense that he was good at finding exploits, security holes in software that needed patching.

The first time he broke my heart was when his old girlfriend contacted him out of the blue and he dumped me for her. We maintained contact, I was devastated but still very much in love with him. We resumed netsex while he was still with her. I did not really like this, but she interrupted my relationship with him, so I justified it like that. As their relationship began to crumble we grew closer, until they were no more and our relationship was established again.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

The bedroom is a no-tech zone

He came to join me in bed, saying "I read some of your blog." He buried his face against my back, trying to burrow into me.

"Yeah? And?"
"I'm shy!"
"What? That's ridiculous, love."
"I feel like everything I do is being videotaped."
"It's always been like that..."
"But now people read it."
"You want me to stop it?"
"No, no! I just... have to get used to it."
He held me for a while, kissed me, held  me for a while longer. "I'd have sex with you now," he admitted reluctantly, "but I'm too shy."
"Deep down I'm just a shy little boy."
"Oh, yuck!" I rolled my eyes and turned away, making disgusted noises.
"Just..yuck." I squirmed away from him. Little boy + my man, not hot. No.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Sex, please

There's a thing that happens when we fall asleep without sexual interaction for a couple of nights. I don't care anymore. Sex seems like too much work, messy, why bother? We can just snuggle up and go to sleep.

Yes, me, I really can think like that.

So when we made our way to bed and he was being all frisky, pulling my nightshirt up and rubbing my skin underneath, asking me "What can I do with this body of mine?" I was a bit put out. I kept pulling the shirt back down each time he moved his hand. Eventually it became a silly tug-of-war and I was laughing, pulling it down multiple times only for him to flip it back up again decisively.

"It's like you have a mind of your own," he observed.

"Well yeah!" I responded. "It's cold and it's too bright in here!" Ever since I had the emergency C-section I've associated brightness with cold, so the brighter the room is the colder it feels to me.

"Well, let's see what we can do about that." He turned off our light, leaving the room lit dimly by the blue glows of our clock and fan, but still plenty of light to see. "That takes care of the bright... now, as for the cold," he flipped the blankets off of me and shoved my shirt away again, landing a harsh blow of the flogger on my ass. My breath whooshed out of me in a surprised grunt. "That should warm it up a bit, don't you think?" He flogged my ass, each blow raising the sensitivity of my skin there and forcing a small helpless noise out of me. After my bottom was all tingly and warm, he lightly stroked his hand across the sensitive skin. "Whose body is this?" he asked, hitting me again.

I didn't respond, just grunted again. "I asked," he punctuated each word with a hard whack of the flogger.

"Yours." I finally managed to meekly reply.

"That's right. Good girl." He hit me a few more times with the flogger and then a big hard unexpected smack with his hand that made me jump.

He rolled me over then, and fixed a clamp to my right nipple which hurt. I screamed, "Oh, GOD!"

"Hurts, huh? That's what you get for posting such mean things about me on facebook." I laughed even with the pain; I'd posted an amusing interaction between us earlier and he said I took it all wrong. He tried to make the other nipple stand up, but I believe it was terrified of similar treatment and it refused. "Let me see if I can fix that..." he whispered cruelly, and proceeded to flog my left breast. Which, yes, generally does make the nipples come out. The flogging still didn't hold a candle to the pain from the clamp. When he asked "Which nipple hurts more right now?" I didn't hesitate to tell him it was the clamped one. He responded with a scientific curiosity and clamped the left one as well, now that it was available for such abuse.

"It's quite convenient for me, you know. These things can hurt your nipples for me and I can do all sorts of other things." He was running his hands all over my body, stroking me, kissing me. My entire being was still focused pretty much on my right nipple. Not even the clamping of the left one had really taken away from the intensity of it. He pulled my chin to him numerous times and kissed me heatedly, but languidly. That sort of thing was making me crazy. My nipples throbbed.

"Are you sorry?" he queried after a long, long kiss during which he also manipulated my breast flesh, causing the clamps to pull.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry!"

"Well I can be mean to you a different way too..." he whispered against my lips, releasing the left nipple and causing a small surge of extra pain which made me yelp into his mouth. Still not the right one. Please please please just take it off the right one, I kept thinking. Then suddenly I realized that'd probably hurt even more since it'd been clamped longer.

He finally took it off. I think he made me say something else. I was so relieved just to get it free, I don't even remember the exact circumstances. I do remember another surge of pain that was only a little worse than the pain it had been, and then it was gone. I was left with two very very sensitive nipples though, that he continued to touch and tug throughout the rest of the night.

Later, after he'd had me suck his cock, he propped me up on my hands and knees on the liberator ramp and was thrusting into me from behind. His hand stroked from my lower back, up my shoulders, the back of my neck, threading into my hair. He left it resting there, holding the back of my head firmly, for an eternity of thrusting, and then he slowly, oh... so slowly, tightened his fingers to gather my hair into his fist. Once he had a good tight grip on it, he lifted my head back toward him.

I love when he does stuff like that with my hair, but this slow, controlled grip... I knew the tightening was coming but I didn't know when, and each moment of waiting for it extended into an eternity. Delicious.

Why again did I think sex was too much work? I love sex! Sex, please.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Love our Lurkers 6

Today (November 10!) is Love Our Lurkers day, a wonderful day of lurker recognition started by Bonnie over at My Bottom Smarts. You can find a list of other participating blogs over there too.

I know you all are out there. I can hear you breathing! It's okay though, I've done my fair share of lurking on blogs - especially ones with already heavy readerships.

I'm so glad that you enjoy reading here!

You don't have to say anything important or blindingly witty, but it'd be nice to know you're there, and a little about why you're reading. Won't you leave a comment? You can comment anonymously or with an account, either way is fine with me.

As an extra incentive to post, if you have any burning questions for me and you post them, I'll write up a blog post answering all of them! Exciting, right?

I hope you'll join in even if it's just for today!

Blanket Domination

I had washed our sheets and we were making our bed. The sheets were on, the middle blanket was on, and I crawled between the sheets and looked at him wrestling with our comforter at the foot of our bed, turning it end over end. It's reversible, and it's square. You just kind of toss it on the bed and you're done, as long as it's not diagonal or something.

"What are you doing?" I asked, stifling a giggle.

"Trying to fix this blanket!" Frustrated, but a bit amused at himself.

"It's square!" My stifled giggle broke through.

"No it's not! It's not completely square! There!" He grabbed what he considered the top of it and tossed it at me. "THERE, THERE, that's the top! Have it, HAVE IT!"

I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, but I took the comforter and pulled it up to where it should be. He came to his side of the bed and sat down, taking off his glasses and fiddling with something. I curled around his back, uncontrollable laughter spilling out of me. I kissed his back, still laughing. "I love it when you dominate our blankets."

"I was dominating you, forcing my blanket ideas on you!"

I laughed even harder, tears seeping out from the corners of my eyes. "I see, love," I gasped. He gathered me into his arms and lay back, while I laughed uncontrollably to the point of wheezing for a good five more minutes. "What was it you said? 'there, there, that's the top, have it, have it?'" I managed through my spasms, the thought of what he'd said sending me even further into comedy land.

"Yes, silly girl."

You know, I had to verify so I could write it in this blog post.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Bad writing hurts me the most

I have read some really awesome experiences. Some of them are so well written that I can cringe with the pain, rejoice at the pleasure... ride the coaster along with the writer. Especially if it's something that has really happened, that comes through in the writing and the experience is all the richer for it.

Sometimes, though, it's fiction. I like fiction too, I like to read about fantasies as well as reality.

Sometimes the stuff is so poorly written that the grimaces and grunts that come from me aren't in response to the pain that may be going on within the written piece, but physical responses to the poor quality of the writing itself. I can't handle it, and yet I have a thing in my head that leaves me unable to walk away from something once I've started it. It's horrible. My own special brand of masochism, I suppose. Except I don't like it at all.

Then when I see responses to these things that cause such alternate amusement and pain in me, they're overwhelmingly positive. I get that writers need encouragement, but they need feedback too. I can't give critical feedback amongst a swarm of "This is awesome!"

If it's something that happened, then there's all kinds of leeway for it. A historian can't be expected to create things that didn't happen or that can't quite be recalled properly due to the hormones flooding his/her brain. Good writing is still appreciated even here, even if the narrative itself is full of gaps. If it's fiction? Then I'm going to expect a bit more. If it involves human characters, I'm going to expect they'll behave in a human fashion, and that their body parts will act as normal human body parts do.

Erect human penises of an average or above size can not "slide easily into" human throats that are at an angle. It's not possible. So if there's a woman lying on her back and a man fucking her face while sitting on her chest, that's fine. But it ain't going all the way down, unless it's a tiny thing in which case it's not going into the throat at all. If she lifts her head and shoulders up and he lifts himself up, then that makes a better angle for throat penetration, but it requires her to have some motivation. She wants it. It requires him not to just thrust frantically from his happy seated position on her chest, but to put some work into it by keeping himself up higher.

That's just one thing that drives me crazy. If my brain is screaming to me "THIS CAN'T HAPPEN!" then I have a hard time enjoying the story. Now, if you want to make the guy an alien with a bendy cock that can go right 'round that bend? Awesome! Now we're talking, but don't make it ridiculous unless that's what you're shooting for. I can go with some hilarious porn on purpose. Or if we want to keep them human, he can get off her chest and stand behind her and the act of her tilting her head back for him will straighten her throat out. We all know this, right?

I think it's quite damaging to anyone identifying as kinky, too, that so much low-quality writing is floating around. Shiterotica, which elevates the whole sad situation to a level of hilarity worthy of MST3K, should not have such a wealth of material.

So I'm a newbie and I want to read about all these things, fantasies, reality, everything, I suck it all down. I internalize that image of a man sitting on a woman's chest and somehow, magically getting his cock down her throat. What's going to happen when I can't do it? When as a receiver I can't take a cock down my throat in that position, or when as a giver I can't get my cock down a throat in that position?

Fantasy death.

Horrible thing.

"These people wrote about it, surely they know what they're talking about. Something must be wrong with me!"

End kink exploration because it causes bad feelings.

Worst case scenario, of course, but it could happen. Don't we have some responsibility to describe things accurately? Is it not just as hot that a person has to lift up his/her head and shoulders to straighten out the throat and swallow a cock?

Monday, November 7, 2011

Saving daylight for good use

All the clocks that needed resetting were reset. An extra hour! Not that it means that much when you have a small child. Small children care not for clocks and constructed time.

We were talking, both freshly clean and completely nude. We had already been kissing for a while, and I eventually tore my mouth away from his and was kissing him all over, his shoulder, his chest. His hand was sliding up and down my back, stroking my hair occasionally.

"I think I might hurt you tonight," he stated matter-of-factly. My stomach did a cartwheel inside me, but I only paused for a second to grunt an acknowledgement. "Just to give you fair warning," he continued. 

Saturday, November 5, 2011


I adore my husband. He adores me right back. There is a wealth of interaction and emotion between us and the concept of putting another person there just doesn't do it for either of us. We are everything to each other. We've briefly entertained the thought of inviting another person for sex, but we just weren't quite sure what the point would be, and it didn't seem like it would be much fun for the person we had added. A threesome just for the sake of it? No.

I knew it would be this way when we married. We waited a long time before we started trying for a baby, because it was so amazing just being the two of us. Our child was wanted as an expression of our love for each other and we were devastated when we couldn't catch pregnant easily, but we didn't need a child to feel complete.

I know that some people do not feel that way. I'm fine with that. I would no sooner mock those feelings and choices than I would inflict pain on my child. I read this post and I cheered, because Holly struck my feelings dead on -  I am not stuck in my monogamous relationship, woe, poor me, because that is what is expected of me. I rejoice in my relationship because it fits who I am. It is a choice we have both made, to belong to each other exclusively, and it is every bit as fulfilling as delightful as any polyamorous bunch could ever hope for.

But as Holly's post also stated, polyamorous people can also get a little overexcited, even "evangelical" about their choices. Kind of like: it's so amazing you have no idea what you're missing you should really try it like this no no this is the best way I swear!

To quote briefly from Maybe Maimed but Never Harmed:
If you drew people as dots and the relationships between them as lines connecting the dots, the result would look remarkably similar to the topology of telecommunication networks like the Internet, wherein dots represent telephony devices (phones, fax machines, computers, etc.) and lines represent interconnections between them. However, a telecommunication network in which each device could only be connected to one other device—a compulsorily monogamous worldview—would not be very useful. Why buy a phone that can only call one other phone in the world?
People are not tape, but neither are they telephones. This bizarre need to compare people to random other objects that honestly bear no similarity does not work for me. I know a good metaphor when I see one, but this is not it. This network view also seems to assume that people in monogamous relationships have no other connections. Their 'compulsory monogamy' isolates them from the rest of the world, and how could such brainwashed automatons ever connect with anyone outside of their own limited worldview? Okay, so that last bit is my own gut reaction to the piece - the feeling of being attacked just for who I've consciously chosen to love. I get some irony in that, as my heterosexually monogamous privilege has taken umbrage, but it's more than that.

Those gut-punched reactions did color my reception of the rest of the piece, which does have some interesting things to say. It ends with these words:
If this is true, then cultivating the skill of empathy across the planet’s populace, as polyamorous culture actively endeavors to accomplish, is a prerequisite not merely for one’s own individual happiness, but also for the very survival of civilization—and our humanity.
I don't see planting the seeds of monogamy as an inferior sort of backwater, unenlightened relationship style as furthering this goal of empathy. How I choose to relate in my personal life - how anyone chooses this - is beside the point. No relationship choice makes anyone less of a person, so I don't see why it is necessary to denigrate monogamy in order to celebrate polyamory. Can't we have both, and whatever else tickles our fancies? I know that monogamy does not exactly need a champion, but it does need to be treated as a valid choice even by those who haven't chosen it. We cannot win any kind of revolution by splintering.

You're poly? Awesome! I'm monogamous, I'm awesome too! Let's have lunch!

Friday, November 4, 2011


I've clamped my own nipples before, with these little plastic clothes pins. There was a certain lack of appeal for me. It didn't really feel like anything. Yeah, it squashed my nipple. Okay. That was about it. It didn't hurt, not in that delicious spine-tingling way I had been hoping for.

We also had these vibrating nipple clamps. Retarded, useless things with no bite to them whatsoever. Stupid. They went in the bottom of a storage box to rot.

He hadn't clamped my nipples, even though the clothes pins have been there waiting.

Then he did. 

He flogged my ass until I was taking big mouthfuls of the pillow to muffle my screams, because "this ass didn't get itself up and come to bed with me when I told it to."

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Shiterotica and a memory

I giggled until I had to stop for air.

Go, read, laugh!


I was reading this post over there, and in the comments were some interesting observations of the use of the capital for the top, in this case the "H," when writing D/s scenes. That's never been my thing. I get that it is some people's thing, and I respect that. It's not for us though, there's no place for it. My husband, god of all things sex though he may be to me, is not actually a god.

As my still-amused brain perused these comments, a memory came to me.

My husband was my fiancĂ©, still living thousands of miles away from me. An ocean was between us. We played online board games and emulated Dr. Mario (and other Nintendo games) together over the Internet. We used the heck out of AIM and had plenty of netsex. We sometimes shared porn stories, which is where I'm going with this.

I showed him a particular BDSM story that had tickled my fancy on Literotica - no, I don't remember it now ten plus years later - and he read it. "Is she having sex with God?" he asked me, genuinely confused. I giggled, and there, that moment, describes how down-to-earth and fantastic this man really is.

Any time I was down, upset, or feeling small, I would regress into using "i" instead of "I," not from my submissive mindset, but just because I would feel like the effort of capitalizing myself was more than I could muster for such a lowly being as I was at that moment. He would become mildly alarmed those times and try to help. He knew how important language was to me and for me to suddenly disregard such a basic rule was definitely a distress signal.

He's never assumed he's worth more than I am, in fact all of his discourse to me on the topic indicates quite the opposite. Regardless of anything he might say to turn me on, we are of equal worth, and neither of us transcends the rules of the language.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

That thing he does

It's a signal to me. "Kiss me."

It's how he refocuses me from whatever I'm doing onto him, and I obey without hesitation, almost every single time. Escalator at the mall? "Kiss me." I do it.

Snuggling in bed? "Kiss me." I do it. That one usually leads to more. Not every time, but often enough that it sends tingles down my spine just to hear it.

This time was different. This was a marked departure from anything he's done before.

Usually if I'm reading in bed he'll tell me to put down the Nook first, or try to coax me to do so by teasing me mercilessly, giving me a moment to get to the end of a sentence or a paragraph. This time he didn't do any of that. I was reading, and he was peering over my shoulder and he said it. "Kiss me."

I froze. My initial response to those words was to obey, but perhaps I should struggle? I was reading! It was only a couple of seconds, maybe three, but he grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward him, claiming my lips with his. He chastised me when our lips parted: "A little slow sometimes, aren't you? I told you to kiss me!"

It thrilled me. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he'd done to me.

He let me suck his cock after he was done ravishing my mouth with his. When he said "You can stop now. I do have other uses for you," I didn't. When he said "If you don't stop now I'm going to come down your throat," I didn't.

After he did what he'd said he'd do and he was holding me in his arms, he murmured through his haze of satisfaction: "I get the feeling you've been wanting to do that for a long time."

I had. Oh, I had.

He used it against me when he fingered and talked me to my own orgasm. "You like to suck cock, but you like to be fucked, too. You just couldn't stop yourself, could you? I came right into that slutty mouth of yours. You sucked it right out of me. Such. a. slut." His relentless avalanche of words set me off so much that my entire body arched and I could feel my legs shaking uncontrollably. Oh, and yes, I could hear the sounds I was making too.

"You like it when I talk to you," he told me afterwards.

He is so observant!

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Being The Other

Reading about other people's sex lives when they have purposely shared it with you is not quite the same illicit thrill you might get from finding and reading someone's explicit written journal. There's not the element of "I'm not meant to see this, I might see something I shouldn't."

But what comes from this is a genuine POV of The Other. It's a way to get to actually see through another person's eyes, ride it out within that person's brain, experience something that you never would otherwise. We all only get to be ourselves. But what we can do to broaden our perception of ourselves is to experience The Other's life as well. A peeping tom (or tina!) only sees what's happening on the outside, but here on my blog you get what's going on in my head.

Even if what gets me going doesn't get you going, I try to describe what it does to me, how it makes me feel. And that is so powerful to me.

Other kinds of blogs may teach you things - how to cook, how to build a house, how to make a paper hat or teach your kids fractions or make a perfect vegan pudding, and they are so, so useful. But relationship/sex blogs let you actually crawl into The Other's head. You get to be someone else for the length of a post. It can be a wild ride, even if the material isn't wild at all. I read blogs coming from all kinds of relationships and at levels of sexual description ranging from none to complete, not to titillate myself but to get that ride.

I make every effort for everything I post here as truth to be my absolute truth. Sometimes my head may go fuzzy on descriptions due to all the hormones rushing through me and I may fill in "as I can best remember" for the sake of the narrative, but it all happens.

I sometimes wish that my husband would write a description of one of our sexual encounters, just so I could compare notes, ride behind his eyes for a while. I know that even though we are sharing the same event, we're having different experiences, and that fascinates me. I'm there, having sex, and I know I'm missing half of it.

I would gladly read about my own sex life if he were to write about it.

That effectively removes the peeping tom aspect. I'm not interested in watching bloggers have sex, or in them watching me have sex. (Sorry, no. ;)) What I am very interested in is riding behind your eyes for a while, and in giving you a seat behind mine.