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.

On why I blog

I love my blog. I really, really do. I love getting comments, I love reading everyone else's blogs, I love that we have this slice of intimacy into each others' lives.. into what, for me, is the most important part of my life, the bedrock on which every other wonderful thing is built.

Like with a house, so few people actually understand what a relationship is built on. I love crawling around in house crawlspaces, seeing what is going on underneath, what really makes the place tick, hold together, not fall down. The framing, the plumbing, the drains and the wiring are magnificent, and sometimes terrifying. Spiders don't bother me, nor do huge ugly mole crickets. It's the beauty of the foundation.

The things that go on on my blog are the foundation, the crawlspace of my relationship, and by extension, my life.

I love, love, love looking at my stats and seeing people spending literally hours reading my blog, sucking the whole thing down in one single sitting, or several strung out across a few days. My blog! This is a thrill beyond exhibition(from which I get none), it's the joy of providing entertainment worthy of consumption. I really, really love it. So few of you actually comment, but I really appreciate the readership nonetheless. I'm talking to you, UK, Ohio, Mississippi, Wisconsin, others that were longer ago, and BlackberryTasteIc(who actually commented!). I really do love my lurkers.

I don't like that it's so important to be completely anonymous. I always scoffed at Internet anonymity in my adulthood, always felt that I needed to connect all parts of my life, to be whole. I hated the concept of pseudonyms, always used my real name in chat and everywhere once I grew into myself. Love my real name, it IS me.

I get that this type of blog makes that extremely unlikely, I understand the need for anonymity. But that doesn't mean I enjoy it.

I blog because I love to write. I've written ever since I can remember. I've devoured armloads of novels and I've written, written, written.

I also blog because I have these incredible, incredible sexual experiences, and each one deserves preserving, but the intensity of an experience following will often wipe most of a previous one from my brain. For a long time I would journal them, but that lacked a clearly-defined structure and I wound up with journals scattered across multiple machines, sometimes written on paper, in different programs as the whim struck me, not always dated because sometimes I forgot, thinking the program would do it for me (sometimes it did). No good.  I thought of having a private blog, but then wondered where the fun would be in that? My journals were all written from my own perspective and we barely ever actually use each other's names during sex.. so why not?

The extreme isolation I feel here in this huge city away from my friends and face-to-face interactions with people not related or married to me was also a factor in blogging now, as opposed to years ago when I had a job, and both in-person and Internet friends. Now every single one of my friends is an Internet friend. The blog provides me with some of what I was missing. External voices are so very appreciated.

My blog is very very heavy on descriptions of sex. Our sex is important and beautiful to me and I want to be able to experience each occasion again, not having it wiped from memory by the next beautiful thing. It's useful for tracking progress, seeing where we've been and how far we've come. It's mostly for me, but the knowledge that someone else can enjoy it as well is rather fulfilling.