S p o r o t i c a

Emerald made her way quickly down the cool, marble-lined hallway connecting the suites of the legal office, the click of her heels echoing into the high ceiling of the atrium. Her gait was brisk enough to cause soft tendrils of dark red hair to pull free of her careful upsweep and she shivered as they brushed against the sensitive skin of her throat.

Walking through the lobby she was relieved to find the entire building nearly empty at six p.m. and she hurried into the ladies’ room, barely holding on to her professional composure as she entered the last stall and locked the door behind her.

All day long the cool silk lining of her black pencil skirt had rubbed against the warm skin of her ass. The teasing caress had been torture all day, and safely locked behind the door of the last stall in the empty ladies room she dropped her purse and shrugged off her suit jacket, both landing unceremoniously on the floor.

Still standing, she straddled the toilet and quickly slid her skirt up around her waist. She wore no panties and her calf muscles tightened as she ran pale fingertips down her naked stomach. Dropping her head, she followed her fingers as they wound through the trimmed patch of musky hair between her thighs. She felt a single droplet of sweat work from beneath her hairline and land with a deliberate plink into the water directly below her spread legs. With an urgency built mostly of shame and helplessness, one hand roughly spread the damp lips of her mound and one found the leather strap connecting the two smooth lavender crystal spheres buried deeply, one in her sex and one, her ass. She pressed the warm leather firmly, smelled its musk mixing easily with her own lust while her fingers moved the strap back and forth against the shaved skin behind her slit, causing the two spheres to stir gently around in the depths of her flesh. She has waited for this all day, through several boring depositions, two rigid strategy meetings and many weak attempts at humor by the two junior partners, each competing for her attention for months now. Perhaps someday she would test each one of the overeducated puppies to see if either could compete with this toy.

Her toy. It always excited her to handle it even when it was sitting innocuously in her bedside drawer. The smooth crystal orbs cold to the touch, shining amid the chaos of the drawer’s contents. She resisted its allure most times, as she never wanted to grow tired of how purely sexual it made her feel, how it alone was capable of taking her mind far away from the tedium of working at one of the largest law firms in the Carolinas.

Custom made, she received it as a gift three years ago from a long-term fling that had a dirty little flair for the unusual as well as some creative friends in low places. The larger of the two spheres was always a tight fit inside of her pussy, and even when she was very wet it took some coaxing before it would ease all the way past her slick labia, swallowed firmly against her womb to nuzzle at her g-spot. She closed her eyes and remembered watching herself insert it that morning, the harsh bathroom light hiding nothing from her greedy eyes. Propping one shoe-clad foot on the vanity, she flexed the long muscles of her thighs to assist her in getting the sphere as deep inside as possible. She let out a long sigh as it obediently slid high into her pussy and she felt a sudden spasm of sharp arousal as her hidden flesh stretched to accommodate its girth. Uncapping a stick of vanilla flavored lip balm kept for that purpose alone, she ran it in small circles around the tight ring of her ass then pressed the smaller orb slowly in with her thumb. The two orbs settled inside of her, the leather strap between them drawing snug against the skin between her ass and her pussy.

She had almost come right then and quickly removed her foot from the vanity and stood up. She wasn’t ready yet, not yet. When the lust finally subsided, she had finished dressing and left the apartment, enjoying the morning’s short walk to the office.

_____________

Emerald worked her hips against her fingers, her mouth open and panting as she struggled to remain absolutely silent in the empty room. The crystals were warm with a day’s worth of body heat, lubricated by her own high arousal and she clenched her inner muscles against them in rapid rhythm. Her legs became weak as her orgasm approached and she reached out to take hold of the marble wall to steady herself while her fingers worked frantically at the leather strap, driving the crystals faster and deeper inside of her. She wanted it desperately, the climax now all she could focus on and as it slammed into her she bit back a scream and yanked the leather strap clear of her body, the crystals popping free and clattering together briefly in the sudden movement. White light filled every corner of her mind and a violent gush of clear liquid spurted from her pussy, hitting the water in the bowl under her and splashing onto her stockings as she was overcome with wave after wave of exquisite release.

As her orgasm retreated, she sank down onto the toilet, her legs unable to hold her anymore. Her pulse slowing, she opened her eyes and blinked away a moment of disorientation. After she caught her breath she stood up slowly and slid her skirt back into place, smoothing the wrinkled fabric as best she could. Picking up her purse and jacket, she unlocked the stall, flushed the toilet and walked on shaky legs toward the bank of sinks, briefly running the cold tap over her toy before dropping it into her purse.

Checking herself in the mirror, Emerald pulled dampened fingers briefly through her tousled hair. It framed her face nicely this way, and she decided she would wear it down tomorrow for a change. Gathering up her purse, she exited from the ladies’ room and crossed to the revolving door. She stepped out into the late spring evening, feeling the breeze touch the damp spots on her stockings before finding its way under her skirt to caress the bare skin there.

One of the things he loved about secretly watching her was how her pale, slim-fingered hands moved as she worked at the sink, each item she washed holding her attention as she ministered to it briefly. His secret vantage point looked straight down from the window of his second story hallway into her tiny, immaculate kitchen, and as he climbed the stairs this morning, he welcomed an increasingly familiar thread of guilt-tinged lust at the thought of finding her standing at her kitchen sink where he could watch her hands in private. God, those hands.

He had first stumbled across this sweet and sudden intimacy a month ago while searching the upstairs closet for an extra three-pronged extension cord. With the neatly coiled cord in his hand, he had swung the door closed and caught movement through his upstairs window overlooking the first floor kitchen of the house next door. He turned his head to follow the movement and saw the lovely, soft skin of his neighbor for the first time. Her arms were immersed in a dishtub full of water so liberally doctored with soap that it was as though her hands ceased to exist past the thick, white scrud of suds at her wrists. She pulled them from the depths just then as he watched, and he saw between her palms a delicate and slender vase of pale blue glazed ceramic. For a moment she held the vase at the neck and base, her fingers shiny with what he had imagined to be water just past warm enough to be comfortable, judging by the slight rosy glow of her wet skin. He turned to fully watch her for the first time then, thoughts of the extension cord suddenly forgotten as he quickly became mesmerized by the sight of her bare hands moving deliberately over the vase as she washed it with agonizing care.

For a week or so after that first chance encounter, he had trouble focusing his attention at random times. Images of her hands would appear in his mirror when he was shaving in the early afternoon in preparation for work, or insinuate themselves into his mind’s eye later to keep him company while preparing his solitary late-evening dinner. He found his own hands becoming unusually busy at night recently, right before he fell asleep in the center of the bed he and his ex-wife had shared until she left him almost a year ago.

Lately, he had begun to think that this new found interest in his neighbors hands was more than just a slight deviation from the middle-of-the-road fantasies that normally held his attention adequately during those times he needed to get rid of an unwanted erection. He had also begun to think that he didn’t mind this new deviation the slightest bit. It seemed harmless to him.

He eased himself slowly into his usual position at the top of the stairs, the horizontal mini-blinds already having been spun downward to provide him with hidden cover against any prying eyes while giving him an unhindered view of her arms, upper torso and hands as she worked. As he looked down through the blinds, he felt himself begin to thicken in anticipation within the confines of his jeans, and he idly pressed a palm against his flat, flannel-covered stomach, aiming toward his groin and wishing uselessly for a moment that his hand was hers.

Every day he stood peering down through the blinds for long minutes while he waited for her to show up. She always did, and never came empty-handed. He had practically memorized the small slice of her kitchen that was visible to him through her window: the forest green countertop, the perpetual shine on the stainless steel of the single-bowl sink, the angled handle of the sprayer nozzle spouting upward from the right-hand side of the sink. The blindingly white plastic dishpan which rested upside down on the faucet, drying. He ran his eyes greedily over them all now, remembered images of her soapy fingers dipping and swirling into the tiny end of the blue vase she was washing the first day he saw her filling his mind.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting his lust wash freely over his flesh. He wanted to feel her slick hands on his cock, wanted to be under her scrutiny, however briefly. He realized then that he didn’t know her name, and was surprised that it didn’t matter to him at all. He thought of her as ‘She’ and for him, that was enough.

Leaning against the closet door, he slowly opened his eyes and looked down through the slats into her window. A momentary thrill coursed through him as he realized he had missed her arrival by a minute or so. He watched greedily as her darkly painted nails passed through the white froth of the running water, testing its heat as the dishpan quickly filled. She always seemed to enjoy the feel of the water, almost reveling in its liquid texture and heat as it passed across the skin of her hands.

He tore his gaze away from her hands and directed it to the area to the left of her sink, wanting to see what she would be cleaning today.

In the past, she had brought an amazing variety of items to her sink, some mundane and some exotic. All came dirty, and all left clean from her touch. The objects that most often played through his imagination late at night were the collection of light blue antique patent medicine bottles. She had brought them to the sink a week before in a large, dust-covered red wicker basket and proceeded to fill each in turn with the hot soapy water, capping the end with a thumb before shaking them vigorously to dislodge any resistant dirt. His cock throbbed as he remembered how her thumb had slipped once during the act, and a thick spume of soap had jetted from inside the bottle toward her right shoulder and landed on the front of her pale pink cotton blouse, soaking the material and revealing a black bra strap.

His hand dropped to the front of his jeans to caress his stiffened flesh as he watched her. He ran his fingertips firmly down across the swell of his aching cock, feeling sweat begin to form at the back of his neck from the sudden heat running through his body. Unbuckling his belt, he popped the button of his jeans and pushed down the zipper in one quick movement. He teased himself and watched her in secret silence, his heart racing as he saw what she would be tormenting him with today.

A collection of mirrors. In metal frames, flat, on stands, all kinds. All dusty.

She ordered them by size and slipped several of them into the depths of the soapy water in the dishpan. Pulling out each one, she held it up slightly to better see its progress as she ran her long fingers around each edge, across each flat surface, rubbing briefly at some tiny dried-on speck before she rinsed it and set it on the bare countertop to her right to drip into its own puddle of cooling water.

One after another, her beautiful hands moved across the warm glass of her mirrors. With his left hand, he slid his flannel shirt up and free of his jeans, impatiently touching the warm skin of his lower belly while his right hand pinched the deep red head of his cock and rubbed the tiny drop that appeared there. He stifled a slight grunt at the sensation of sudden slickness and moved his hand down the thickness of the shaft, shaking it slightly and testing its weight.

Bracing his feet, he leaned closer to the window and let his eyes slip closed for a moment. He felt the muscles in his thighs flex as he began to thrust easily and rhythmically into his right hand, images of her slender fingers and her faceless, nameless body churning behind his shut eyelids. The only sound breaking the silence of this room was the soft slap of skin against skin.

Not allowing himself to climax without having his eyes on her hands was a new habit of his. He opened his eyes slightly, peering down at her through slitted eyelids. She had finished with the small mirrors and was now in the process of cleaning a mirror too large to fit into her tiny dishpan, and it was lying flat across the top of it, her hands moving lazily over its wetly reflective surface, teasing dust from the edges. He was more than ready to fall off the cliff, and he gripped his cock tighter, driving toward the delicious rush he knew was coming.

The muscles of his ass bunched under his jeans as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching. The unmistakeable sound of slapping flesh grew louder and more insistant as he eyed the rosy softness of her skin, imagining the puckered feel her fingertips would have after being in water for so long. A single trickle of sweat broke free from his forehead and ran down the side of his face from the effort of jerking his cock, but he ignored it and looked deeper into the mirror for one moment as the first powerful jet of semen arched from his manhood and forced him to close his eyes as his climax locked all his muscles in delicious agony. He didn’t want to think about the sight that greeted him in the depths of that mirror, shocking him and violating his own privacy.

He saw her eyes reflected there, looking directly into his.

Deanna grew irritated as she waited for the doors of the subway car to slide open. After what felt like an eternity, the balky doors gave way and the heat from the nearby exit washed over her as she quickly stepped out onto the platform. Hoisting her bag higher up on her shoulder, she picked her way through the throng of early morning workaholics and reached the familiar big red transfer machine at the foot of the stairs. The machine obediently spit out a bus transfer with a loud click and she was up the stairs even before it reset itself.

Almost colliding with a tall and gaunt figure of indeterminate gender carrying a large overcoat over one arm, she mumbled a hasty apology and tried not to stare at the row of piercings lining the figure’s full lips as they spread in a lazy smile at her. Walking through the main door, she wondered idly what it would be like to kiss such a metallic grin. Even though she was straight, she never turned away a thought just because it didn’t fall happily within her own usual gender preference.

Summer’s heat was still in full swing despite being mid-September, and she felt her thin sleeveless t-shirt begin to cling to the veil of sweat forming on her upper back. She hated the summer sun. It had a way of making her feel beat down and thick-headed, especially in the morning. One more bus to catch before she would be able to settle in for the day, surrounded by the cool darkness of the University library. She was researching the area’s curious anthropological subculture, and was in the process of draining the library dry of everything she could lay her hands on.

As she walked, she occasionally turned to look down the street to see if her bus was coming. The books in her bag were a comforting weight against her side, and she brushed a bit of windblown red hair out of her eyes and joined the queue already standing at the stop. Tall men looking uncomfortable in three-piece suits, ladies carrying laptop bags and acting as if they were late already. Two young kids, their hands in each other’s back pockets played at ignoring each other for a moment while they each groped a handful of the other’s ass.

Deanna smiled to herself as she watched the people around her. She always felt comfortable in a large anonymous group such as this. She justified it by thinking that since no one knew who she was, she could feel free to be someone different than the quiet girl who usually blended into her surroundings like a social chameleon. Her life was achingly normal, and exceptionally dull in her eyes. Exciting things never usually happened to her; she was too timid and reserved to really welcome any experiences out of the ordinary. She had recently broken up with the only boyfriend she had ever had in her nineteen years. He was five years older than she, and having recently lost his mother to emphysema he began to speak of marriage to her, desperation creeping around the folds of his eyes when he spoke to her of his love. She didn’t know what it was exactly that made her get rid of him, save that she knew she couldn’t love him in the way he needed to be loved. And that was that.

The bus lumbered up, kicking out clouds of diesel stink as it came to a stop in front of her. The line jostled into position and began boarding. Deanna handed her sweat-stained transfer to the driver, his impassive face not even looking up from the cashbox in front of him as she passed by. The bus was crowded, and she found a place to stand near the center door. Reaching up, she grabbed hold of one of the dirty plastic straps just as the bus swayed out into traffic.

She had about a half-hour bus ride to the University. It was only a few miles, but the city was large and traffic clogged the streets no matter what hour she travelled the busses. The air was sticky with the throng of bodies, and she felt her shorts clinging to her lower back as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She already regretted wearing the boy’s gym shorts that day.  They were a one-piece affair with the lining built into the shorts so that nothing else need be worn under them, but they had already begun a slow climb upward to rest deeper into the crevice of her ass from the heat and her movement. She reached around with her free hand and gave them what she hoped was a discreet tug.

Two more stops; the bus groaned with its human cargo as it came and went. She was glad to be standing near the center door when it swung open to let someone off, as the momentary blast of fresh air hit her skin like a blessing.

As the bus pulled away from the curb again, she noticed she was now surrounded by warm bodies. She felt as though she were in a sauna, so close they were to each other and her. The heat magnified a thousand different colognes, deodorants, and degrees of body odor and she began to grow momentarily impatient. The bus turned a corner, and a short, young Asian woman with an overly-done and wilting hairstyle lurched into her shoulder without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Deanna sighed quietly and regained a firmer grip on the plastic strap over her head.

She was lost in thought for a moment, thinking about the lovely, lovely cool air of the library when she became suddenly aware of something pressing ever so gently against her from behind. Jolting from her reverie, she felt the radiating heat of another person at her back, but what pressed against the peak of her ass was soft and yielding. She became instantly aware of her surroundings, the blank gazes of the strangers around her each avoiding the other’s personal space by pretending they were alone.

She stopped breathing for a moment and tuned in to her awareness. She felt no immediate sense of danger, and in a minute had convinced herself that it was just someone’s shopping bag invading her space and nothing more.

The bus turned a sharp corner, the rear wheels mounted the curb and she was jostled again, but this time when she settled she noticed that the presence was now more firmly situated against her. She resisted the urge to turn around; she was not carrying a purse or any large amounts of cash in her book bag, so easy robbery couldn’t be the motive for such close contact. She decided to wait and see what happened before she reacted.

As the bus made its way toward downtown, it passed through a section of construction that left the pavement uneven. She held tighter to her strap and felt the stranger use the rough ride as an excuse to make full body contact with her. She now knew the gender of the stranger, as she could make out the distinct and unmistakable outline of an erection now pressed into the deep cleft of her ass. It felt thick, and insistent.

Deanna had not had a vast amount of real-life experience with sex, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in booklearning. Or so she thought. She had never read about anything like this before, and wondered what was going to happen next. More importantly, she wondered what she would do when it did. She began to feel an almost imperceptible swaying, a low-key and discreet rhythmic thrusting of his swollen cock against her. She felt the man’s body quiver slightly on the outthrust and wondered briefly if he were motivated to do this from the shiny-slick appearance of her shorts, or perhaps she was just one in a long line of anonymous conquests, each occurring when the conditions were right for him.

She was about five minutes from her stop. She shifted her eyes to the left, hoping to catch a glimpse of something identifying about her silent lover. Nothing. He was perfectly out of her field of vision. She suddenly felt her knees go weak at the thought of the two of them right there in front of a hundred other people, all ignorant of what was happening between them in this public place.

She felt him slowly drive against her, his body straining to increase the pressure of his cock arching against her ass as his arousal quickly became dire while he kept his quiet composure. She didn’t move a muscle, and for a moment she thought she heard a slight gasp. She shivered suddenly despite the heat, and felt her nipples bloom into erectness. Amazed at his boldness, she felt his warm breath on the back of her bare shoulder as he leaned closer. The immediate intimacy was overpowering her senses, and through the thin material of her shorts she felt the pulsing throb of his impending orgasm. She knew that his face was inches away from hers, but all she did was close her eyes. She felt his last firm thrust against her ass and she held her breath, feeling the cresting pulse of his climax as it played itself out in silence.

Focusing on the retreating sensations, she kept her eyes closed. She felt the bus slow and pull to the curb. The center door opened and for the briefest of moments she imagined she felt the softest kiss dropped onto the back of her shoulder. A kiss that felt as though it were ringed with metal.

I often have wondered at what cost comes security in the life of the average modern adult in the average modern relationship?

After much pondering and soul-searching, I have decided that the concept of ‘love’ as it applies to reasonable English-speaking people is in dire need of being redefined.  We spend too much of our short lives desperately searching for something that is apparently outmoded enough of an oblique concept to drive us all to divorce when we see that what we now have was not what we thought it was going to be when we started out on the journey.

And with that, I say this; if you care deeply for someone, does loving them and marrying them automatically mean that they are going to be expected to fulfill every single one of your dreams, wishes, future desires and idle wants, even when neither they nor you realize what it is you are wanting from yourself, let alone a marriage?

Sunday afternoon, and there is nothing pressing. Nothing urgent. Six solid hours of daylight left before the Sunday night angst of Monday morning sets in. I am lazing in bed with the boy and toying with my birthday present, a lovely set of eight rosebud urethral sounds. Polished, shiny. He knows I love shiny things. Especially evil shiny things, like scalpels, straight razors and now, urethral sounds.

My birthday is not officially here for four days. He knows I can never wait until then to see what he has found for me. His taste is exquisite in every single aspect.

I pick up each long, slender rod between my fingertips and watch the sun glint off of the new metal. Each rod has an increasingly larger ‘bullet’ on the business end, originally designed to clear obstructions from the male urethra but it did not take long before the kinksters of the world found much more fun ways to press them into service, so to speak. I have wanted a set for a year.

Turning them over in my hands, I pretend as though the conversation the boy and I are engaged in is at the front of my mind. I shake each to test the bonelessness of each shaft, waving it and watching the slim metal rod flex and create bright paths of glitter in the sunlight.

The boy watches me idly, laughing and talking of some recent misadventure at work. He does not seem nervous.

But then again, he is a masochist. And a beautiful one at that.

I tip him over onto his back and tell him to lie still for a moment. He blinks at the sudden movement and chuckles softly.

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to decide to use those instead of just teasing me by playing with them.”

I laugh and reach into the nightstand for alcohol and gauze. He watches silently while I arrange the cool metal rods according to size on his broad chest. The smallest is nearest me, and I pick it up and clean it thoroughly, my fingertips brushing over old scars on his skin. Scars that I had put there. He grows from piano to forte in the space of eight heartbeats. The air in our bedroom became suddenly heavy with promise.

My big brother was a pharmacist. He died on Christmas Eve day 2004 of lymphoma. I often find myself thinking of things he told me at the oddest times. This was one of those times. I remembered his recounting an event many years ago while in college going through one of his endless clinical classes. He told me that when he looked through the end of the microscope and dialed that tiny world into his focus, that he was always and without exception excited at the anticipation of what he might discover, what might be revealed to him through the eyepiece. And how that revelation might change him.

I felt that way right at this moment. Shaking off the frisson of brief discord that came from thinking of my brother while holding my husband’s cock, I blinked and drew in a deep breath. Exhaling softly, I smiled down into the boy’s face and generously lubricated the smallest sound. He closed his eyes. I made him open them. I want his feedback, physically and emotionally. I always do when I play with his pain, especially for the first time with a new toy.

I eased the bulbous and greasy tip of the smallest sound into his urethra. His eyes held mine. I raised one eyebrow in a silent question. He sighed softly in response as the silvery bullet entered his body. I could feel him wanting to prove something to himself, to me. A sense of urgency came over him after several minutes of my ministrations. Not the urge to climax, but rather the urge for me to not be so gentle, to be so patient. He didn’t wish me to spend so much time easing him into the experience. He was greedy for the pain. He wanted to take the larger sounds in closer succession. I would happily have made him scream just for the sheer joy that it brings to me. Ah, but no.

This is always the crux, the deciding point for me. To crush, to wound..or not. To push the edgeplay past the point of sanity for a moment, or to retreat to safer ground. Just because something is offered, and it is something I desire does not necessarily mean I should accept it. Not this afternoon, anyway.

Besides, I rather enjoy seeing his need. I guess it is the sadist in me.

Here, with little preamble, is a link to Sugasm #35.

What is Sugasm? It is a devilish digest site posting weekly links to the world of sex blogs with entries posted by the bloggers who blog them. Want in Sugasm #36? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist by the end of next Monday night and you’re all set.

Fun Stuff and Announcements

I Wish That I Had Some Tits (tgp.com)
May Contest (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)
Mainstream Clothing Company Makes Pornographic Online Ads (pornster.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex

Food (edinerotica.blogspot.com)
T and A (gentlebutfirm.blogspot.com)
Reader Question - How do YOU Masturbate? (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
I Love Camel Toes (post in German) (kriminell.blogspot.com)
Busted! (wanklog.blogspot.com)
Why We Masturbate & The Endless Ways to Do It (taratainton.com)
Sex Tip - Getting Used to Condoms (seskuality.com)
Ready for Anything (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
Spelunking the Southern Cave (greatshakes.eponym.com/blog)

BDSM and Fetish

Bondage for Beginners: Part Two, Basic Guidelines (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
A Naughty Girl’s Toy Story (spankmedaddy.blogspot.com)
Floggers And Ropes And Gags - Oh My! (masterenigma.blogspot.com)
Even Money Leaves No Hope When You Have A Tiny Dicklet (phonesexsub.com)
A Different Sort Of Fetish : Long Nails (ladyevilsdungeon.com)
What An Ugly Ass Looking Tiny White Dick! (spoiledebonyprincess.com)
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Missing Him (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)

3 Choices (pleasure-pain.com)
Newspaper Delivery Girl (spankingwriters.com/blog)
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Just a Little Kiss (everythingoze.blogspot.com)

NSFW Pics

Lanny Barbie (babelog.sestaluna.com)
Pinup Model Nora Marlo Again (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
HNT #18: Folding Fan (spiritsex.blogspot.com)
Boobs and Glasses Pic (seska4lovers.com)
DaisyBeach - Cute California Babes (sensualarousalblog.com)
A Gallery of Ashley on I Love Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)
Teen Lesbians Picnic (simply-sapphicerotica.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences

Punk Rock Goddess (internetisforporn.com)
Spin, Steam, Sex… (sexblogthis.blogspot.com)
An Office Fantasy (lustdemon.blogspot.com)
The Food Would Be Good Too (gentlygently.blogspot.com)
Pillows Don’t Hug You Back (v-boat.blogspot.com)
An Open Letter to Penthouse (fourstate.blogspot.com)
9:32 pm That Evening (totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Imperial white. Tiger Skin. Kashmir gold… (happywaitress.blogspot.com)
Driving to Distraction (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)
In Answer to Your Question (onaniajournal.blogspot.com)
Euston Road (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
Vibrator Virginity Lost (pleasinglydebauched.blogspot.com)
Gee, I Kinda Miss My Bed (avahsascent.blogspot.com)

Are you still here? Go. Read!

One type of encounter that has always had the ability to make me feel exquisitely alive is the deliberately surreptitious, spontaneous encounter. Even moreso, if it is of a sexual nature, has an inherant risk of getting caught associated with it, and is with my VSO. What’s not to like?

Today, my VSO came home from work after only working an eight hour shift instead of his usual twelve. Needless to say, he still had some energy. Ah, but how best to take advantage of this (rare) situation? We went for a drive, first to drop a pile of bills into the mail, and next to the local drugstore emporium to purchase bath soap. We chatted amiably, laughing and teasing each other a bit and just enjoying the late afternoon sunshine and seasonally cool temperatures. One of our favorite things to do is to drive aimlessly and purposelessly on nice spring days, and see what kind of trouble we can get into, so we were in the process of taking advantage of that when I asked him, “So, tell me something really dirty.” (more…)

My VSO (very significant other) came home from work yesterday, looking a bit worn around the edges as usual. As he changed out of his work clothes, he spoke briefly of his day and its frustrations. As he spoke, I handed him two aspirin and a tall glass of icy water. He took the aspirin gratefully, and I instructed him to sit for a few minutes at his computer, read his email, and start to unwind from his day.

At this point, I need to mention that even though I am a Dominant sexual sadist, my VSO is not submissive, is not the expected diametric opposite of a Dominant. He is a sexual masochist, and delightfully conflicted spiritually and convoluted both spiritually and emotionally. It is precisely these deeper traits that I was appealing to at this very moment. (more…)

Have you ever found yourself on a Saturday evening standing in a dimly lit room surrounded by people whose real first names you might not know while your barely-clad significant other is strapped to a piece of specially-designed, evil-intentioned furniture breathlessly awaiting the first kiss of whichever implement you selected from your leather bag full of dire toys?

I have. And it is a ritual I partake in as often as I can, as it is one time I can fully exist in the moment. (more…)

Being in a D/s relationship is not always a walk in the park. Those involved in one might say that that is the understatement of the year.

What makes a D/s relationship different than a plain vanilla one (besides the toy collection)? For me, it is the depth of the emotional bond the boy and I share. I trust his decisions, he trusts my judgement. We discuss everything with each other. There are no unpleasant hidden surprises lurking around in the corners of his mind, or mine. He never has a need to push me away, and I give him all of the solitary time to think that he needs. I always trust that he will tell me if he is having an issue with any facet of his life, either with me, or without me. I encourage him in his goals; he supports my often wacky ideas about life. (more…)