Things you will need:
Fear
Dread
Anxiety
Alarm
Horror
Unremitting agony
Implements of torture and misery
If necessary, a way to restrain your masochist
Begin the process of cooking your masochist by marinating it in fear and trepidation. You will want to start this step at least a few hours in advance of your scene, preferably an entire day before. The marinade should consist of a steady dose of panic-inducing suggestions, innuendos, predictions. At first, the marinade may seem to simply run off the masochist without affect, but don't worry: it's infusing itself into the bloodstream, creating a whirling, pounding sense of terror. Later, it will add a distinct flavor to the dish!
Right before you are ready to start in on your masochist, stir in some anxiety, doubt, and dread. Do this by reminding it what is about to happen to its body, mind and soul; what you have planned--and what you are still contemplating; and that while its survival is assured, everything else is basically still on the table. Reiterate that the pain they are about to endure might be your fault, but it was their choice, and that choice is about to fucking hurt deep.
Tie up your masochist so it's ready for the procedure ahead. This is not unlike trussing up a chicken, turkey, or pig. You can use rope, leather...hell, you can even use twine. The point is to keep exposed all the body parts you want exposed, and tuck away all the limbs you don't want getting in the way, so that the meat cooks exactly how you want it to. The masochist, feeling trapped at this point, may try to test its bonds by thrashing and flailing. Let it; the faster it realizes it's not going anywhere, the faster it will surrender to the pain ahead.
Now it's time to tenderize the meat! But, like my grandmother used to say, make sure you're using the right tools for the right job. If you want to warm the meat slowly and evenly, you'll want to start out with something smooth and flat. But sometimes the meat is acting tough, and will require a good pounding from the get-go to see any good results. The masochist may begin to tremble and strain, but this is all normal. Its endorphins are starting to bubble to the surface, and the more you let them escape, the better. Its smarting, aching flesh should slowly become a beautiful glowing red. It may also have purple areas, depending on your tenderizing technique; this is also nothing to worry about.
Once the masochist has been reduced to a tormented, runny mess, it is ready to be cooked. What's good about cooking masochist is that there are so many ways to do it. Masochist can be fried up with electricity and fire; it can be beat up with canes and floggers; it can be whipped with, well, whips; it can be baked with paddles and tawses. In its distress, the masochist will probably not remain quiet. It may even shriek, holler, gasp and scream in its throes of agony. Be prepared for this--have a gag ready, if need be. A ball gag works wonders. A small apple may fit in its mouth, too.
As the masochist cooks, all its juices will start flowing to the surface, and it will probably get creamy. Don't waste this soft sweet juice! Baste the meat liberally as the cooking continues. You can even remove the gag once in a while to force its juices back into its mouth. It may very well be crying at this point, too, and the juices mixed with its tears should make a unique tangy/sweet taste on its tongue. Don't be shy about tasting yourself!
Depending on the masochist, you will know its ready when it's thrashing has simmered down to a low, miserable quiver; when its skin is flushed and throbbing; when the bruises have risen nicely to the surface; and when it can do nothing but stare into dreamy space, utterly removed from its current torment. Do not base your decision on whether the masochist has had enough solely on the appearance of the body. Judge on its state of mind: basically, it should have no mind left. Once your masochist is incapable of putting coherent thoughts together, it is probably done.
At this point, the masochist needs time to cool down. Sit it in a corner, keep it still and quiet if necessary. Treat it like a soufflé: don't let it drop too quickly! This part can be tricky to learn, but with enough practice, I'm sure you'll get it.
By the time the process is over, your masochist should look great, feel great, and taste great. Good job! And remember: don't be afraid to experiment. This is just one recipe; have fun making your own!
Memaparkan catatan dengan label Funny stuff. Papar semua catatan
Memaparkan catatan dengan label Funny stuff. Papar semua catatan
Khamis, 30 Januari 2014
Magic
Once upon a time, far off in a remote kingdom, there lived a young princess whose only wish was to feel true happiness. She searched far and wide, looking for happiness, but after traveling to the far corners of her kingdom, she still had not found it. So she called upon scholars, artisans, minstrels, and jesters from around the kingdom, and welcomed them into her castle, hoping one among them could make her happy; but none could.
Feeling desperate, she invited the three most renown and exalted wizards in the world to her castle, and promised them whoever could make her feel true happiness would win her hand in marriage and share her throne.
The first wizard was an arrogant man who was used to thinking himself right about all things. After contemplating the princess's tale of woe for all of two minutes, he decided that the lady was suffering from acute loneliness. So he pulled out his magic wand--a thick, heavy tool--waved it in the air, and immediately, all the men standing around the princess became infatuated with her. They began to sing her praises and cry out their love; they tripped over themselves in their attempts to kiss her toes.
This was not what the princess wanted. She kicked the men away, and when that didn't work to subdue them, she ordered her guards to carry them out. She ordered the first wizard out with them, too. And so went the first wizard.
The second wizard was a scornful, chauvinistic man. Thinking the princess's unhappiness stemmed from her natural stupidity born from being a woman, he pulled out his magic wand--not as heavy as the first wizard's, but twice as long--and waved it in the air. Immediately, the princess gained new insight into the hearts and minds of all her subjects. She knew all their dirty little secret indulgences and fears.
This was not what the princess wanted. She ordered all her subjects away, including her guard. She also had them kill the wretched wizard outside the castle walls in order to break his terrible spell. And so went the second wizard.
All that was left within the castle was the princess and the third wizard. Now it just so happened that this wizard knew the princess very well. He had, in fact, been in love with her his entire life. He loved her for her elegance, her wit, her charm, and her determination. He also knew this was his only chance to claim the princess as his own, and was not about to let the opportunity, or the princess, escape him.
"My lady, I can help you find true happiness," he said. "But you must do exactly what I say. Kneel down on all fours."
With no one else there to witness her degradation, the princess did as told, and knelt on the cold stone floor like an obedient dog. A second later, she felt her skirt being ripped away; and before she could stand to protest, she felt her wrists being tied smartly behind her back with the material of her skirt.
The wizard pulled out his wand--a thin, wippy rod, not as heavy as the first wizard's nor as long as the second's, but sturdy nonetheless--and began to whip it across the sloping haunches of the princess's very smooth, and very delicate, ass. She hollered and she cursed, but he held her still, and with each snap of his wrist, a new red line appeared across her satiny flesh.
Once she was done with her yells and shrieks and lay inert upon the floor, ass up but face resting on cool stone tile, a dreamy smile playing across her face, he ordered her up, doffed his clothes, and ordered her to straddle him. She did so without protest, sitting atop his pelvis right there on the floor of the royal hall, and when he lifted her hips and planted her right on his unyielding cock, breaching her vaginal cunt in one single penetration, she barely whimpered.
He rocked her hips and ground her slippery cunt against his groin until she got the hang of it, found her natural rhythm, and took over. As the grimace that had masked her pretty features disappeared, becoming a look of stern concentration, the wizard sat up, grabbed his wand, wet it with his mouth and tongue, and then unceremoniously poked it into the princess's tight-ringed ass. The princess let out a high-pierced shriek as he did, and lifted up nearly off his prick, but the wizard pushed her back, and she bounded up and down his glistening cock with growing desperation.
The wizard twisted and gored his wand up her rear channel with grim determination as the princess fucked his cock, milking him with her virgin cunt, until they both came in thunderous explosion, bucking their hips and grinding against each other in quivering, shuddering need. As the princess collapsed over the wizard's body, breathing like a filly after a spirited race, a tranquil smile spread across her lips. She was completely, and perfectly, happy.
After cleaning themselves off and making their attire once more presentable, the princess called in all her subjects and declared the third wizard to be the winner of her hand in marriage. And they lived happily ever after.
Moral of the story is this: it's not the size or shape of the wand that counts. It's not even always the magic it can do. It's the strength, and control, of the hand that wields it.
:P
And here, for your enjoyment, is the Alligator King song from Sesame Street, in case you feel like a trip down memory lane.
Feeling desperate, she invited the three most renown and exalted wizards in the world to her castle, and promised them whoever could make her feel true happiness would win her hand in marriage and share her throne.
The first wizard was an arrogant man who was used to thinking himself right about all things. After contemplating the princess's tale of woe for all of two minutes, he decided that the lady was suffering from acute loneliness. So he pulled out his magic wand--a thick, heavy tool--waved it in the air, and immediately, all the men standing around the princess became infatuated with her. They began to sing her praises and cry out their love; they tripped over themselves in their attempts to kiss her toes.
This was not what the princess wanted. She kicked the men away, and when that didn't work to subdue them, she ordered her guards to carry them out. She ordered the first wizard out with them, too. And so went the first wizard.
The second wizard was a scornful, chauvinistic man. Thinking the princess's unhappiness stemmed from her natural stupidity born from being a woman, he pulled out his magic wand--not as heavy as the first wizard's, but twice as long--and waved it in the air. Immediately, the princess gained new insight into the hearts and minds of all her subjects. She knew all their dirty little secret indulgences and fears.
This was not what the princess wanted. She ordered all her subjects away, including her guard. She also had them kill the wretched wizard outside the castle walls in order to break his terrible spell. And so went the second wizard.
All that was left within the castle was the princess and the third wizard. Now it just so happened that this wizard knew the princess very well. He had, in fact, been in love with her his entire life. He loved her for her elegance, her wit, her charm, and her determination. He also knew this was his only chance to claim the princess as his own, and was not about to let the opportunity, or the princess, escape him.
"My lady, I can help you find true happiness," he said. "But you must do exactly what I say. Kneel down on all fours."
With no one else there to witness her degradation, the princess did as told, and knelt on the cold stone floor like an obedient dog. A second later, she felt her skirt being ripped away; and before she could stand to protest, she felt her wrists being tied smartly behind her back with the material of her skirt.
The wizard pulled out his wand--a thin, wippy rod, not as heavy as the first wizard's nor as long as the second's, but sturdy nonetheless--and began to whip it across the sloping haunches of the princess's very smooth, and very delicate, ass. She hollered and she cursed, but he held her still, and with each snap of his wrist, a new red line appeared across her satiny flesh.
Once she was done with her yells and shrieks and lay inert upon the floor, ass up but face resting on cool stone tile, a dreamy smile playing across her face, he ordered her up, doffed his clothes, and ordered her to straddle him. She did so without protest, sitting atop his pelvis right there on the floor of the royal hall, and when he lifted her hips and planted her right on his unyielding cock, breaching her vaginal cunt in one single penetration, she barely whimpered.
He rocked her hips and ground her slippery cunt against his groin until she got the hang of it, found her natural rhythm, and took over. As the grimace that had masked her pretty features disappeared, becoming a look of stern concentration, the wizard sat up, grabbed his wand, wet it with his mouth and tongue, and then unceremoniously poked it into the princess's tight-ringed ass. The princess let out a high-pierced shriek as he did, and lifted up nearly off his prick, but the wizard pushed her back, and she bounded up and down his glistening cock with growing desperation.
The wizard twisted and gored his wand up her rear channel with grim determination as the princess fucked his cock, milking him with her virgin cunt, until they both came in thunderous explosion, bucking their hips and grinding against each other in quivering, shuddering need. As the princess collapsed over the wizard's body, breathing like a filly after a spirited race, a tranquil smile spread across her lips. She was completely, and perfectly, happy.
After cleaning themselves off and making their attire once more presentable, the princess called in all her subjects and declared the third wizard to be the winner of her hand in marriage. And they lived happily ever after.
Moral of the story is this: it's not the size or shape of the wand that counts. It's not even always the magic it can do. It's the strength, and control, of the hand that wields it.
:P
And here, for your enjoyment, is the Alligator King song from Sesame Street, in case you feel like a trip down memory lane.
Ten Things Anal Sluts Think Of While Getting Fucked in the Ass
Inspired by some writings I've recently seen online (sorry, they're on Fetlife so I can't link to them, but believe me, they are good), I decided to write my own:
1. Whoa! That lube is cold. Don't use too little! But don't use too much either! I don't want a mess on the sheets again.
2. How is it you like to do this to me, anyway? I mean, I know it's tight and warm in there, but still...THEY DON'T CALL IT THE POOP CHUTE FOR NOTHING. Doesn't this gross you out? Please don't let this gross you out.
3. Ok, some pressure...I can take it...ow. Ow ow OW. God I forgot again how much this hurts.
4. I can take it...the worst must be over now...OKAY I GUESS NOT OW OW OW.
5. Okay. Okay. Worst is definitely over. He's in. OH WAIT HE HELD BACK OH JESUS.
6. He's sliding now...this isn't so bad...I can handle this.
7. Mmm, those are some very nice colors floating by.
8. Oh God, this is really awesome, I mean this is fucking amazing, holy shit it HURTS but please don't STOP
9. Why can't I ever come this good with plain 'ole vaginal sex?
10. Okay, you can pull out now. Now, really, it's starting to hurt again. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T COME YET
Ten Things Anal Sluts Think Of While Getting Fucked in the Ass
1. Whoa! That lube is cold. Don't use too little! But don't use too much either! I don't want a mess on the sheets again.
2. How is it you like to do this to me, anyway? I mean, I know it's tight and warm in there, but still...THEY DON'T CALL IT THE POOP CHUTE FOR NOTHING. Doesn't this gross you out? Please don't let this gross you out.
3. Ok, some pressure...I can take it...ow. Ow ow OW. God I forgot again how much this hurts.
4. I can take it...the worst must be over now...OKAY I GUESS NOT OW OW OW.
5. Okay. Okay. Worst is definitely over. He's in. OH WAIT HE HELD BACK OH JESUS.
6. He's sliding now...this isn't so bad...I can handle this.
7. Mmm, those are some very nice colors floating by.
8. Oh God, this is really awesome, I mean this is fucking amazing, holy shit it HURTS but please don't STOP
9. Why can't I ever come this good with plain 'ole vaginal sex?
10. Okay, you can pull out now. Now, really, it's starting to hurt again. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T COME YET
Isnin, 27 Januari 2014
He is Wonderman
14 year old: You know, Mom, all the best super heroes have sidekicks. That's how you can tell if a super hero is really good or not; if he has a sidekick.
Me: Maybe you're right. So why doesn't Wonder Woman have a sidekick? She's pretty badass.
12 year old: What would her sidekick be called?
Me: ...Wonderman.
Husband, rushing into the room: Here I am, Wonderman!
Me: You scared me!
Husband: Look at my pretty gold bracelets! My lasso of truth! I will tie you up with my rope and make you talk! Wife, the reason why there is no Wonderman is because that sounds gay.
Me: It does not sound gay!
Husband: And what would he ride in? An invisible car? Guys want to see a badass car! Batman has a badass car! Wonder woman's sidekick cannot drive an invisible car! It's gay.
Me: That is very homophobic, Husband.
Husband: Well, it's true. And anyway, it's okay. Not everyone has to have a superhero.
14 year old: Jews don't have a superhero.
Husband: There you go. Jews don't have a superhero.
12 year old: Who would be our superhero, Dad?
Husband: Matzah Man.
Me: Husband!
Husband: He fights evil celiac disease everywhere. And lactose intolerance.
Me: Husband....
Husband: And he has his own motto: Shalom Aleichem, motherfuckers.
Me: That's it. Kids, go to bed.
How An Appointment Reminder Card is A Lot Like BDSM Negotiations
My dentist (whom I love) has this bad policy of sending out "appointment reminder" postcards when it's time for a checkup. See, what they do is, they make you an appointment, put it in their calendar, and then do you the favor of letting you know they've gone ahead and put you in their schedule by sending you a postcard. What ends up happening is you get a little card in the mail with your appointment date and time stamped on it, with the message "please call!!" politely scrawled beneath.
The first time I got this postcard, I ignored it. The office manager called me a week later, asked me if I'm coming to the appointment, and I said no, I couldn't make that time. She rescheduled me.
The second time I got this postcard, I was a little bit more pissed off, but ignored it. The office manager called me a week later, asked me if I'm coming to the appointment, and I said no, I couldn't make that time. She rescheduled me.
The third time I got this postcard, I decided I could make the day and time the office manager had graciously allotted me. I called up the office to let them know.
"Oh thank you," she said, albeit a little sarcastically, making me bristle. "It was nice of you to call this time." Her tone got me defensive.
"Well I assume you know if I don't call, I'm not coming," I said.
"Funny, some people think the exact opposite," she replied.
"What do you mean?"
"They think if they don't call to cancel, that means they are coming. We really wish people would just call and let us know."
After getting into a small but heated discussion on the wisdom of their policy of making appointments for people without their knowledge or consent--which resulted in her putting a note in my file, 'call patient first before making appointment'--I hung up.
But the conversation got me thinking.
Preliminary negotiations between a Top and bottom work much the same way as an appointment reminder postcard. A Top sends out the message he wants to play with a bottom; the bottom indicates she's interested. Now the negotiations start.
Too many times, I've heard of cases where things go bad during the scene because the bottom did not make her wishes and limits clear enough. The Top (if he's experienced at all as a Top) will know to ask certain questions, and keep a checklist in his head of things he needs to know. But there is no way that checklist is going to encompass everything the bottom wants him--needs him--to know.
It is up to the bottom to tell him.
But what if she doesn't?
The bottom assumes, if they haven't discussed it, it's off the table. If she hasn't made it perfectly clear it's ok, then it's an automatic no.
But the Top assumes if they haven't discussed it, it's a possibility. If she hasn't made it perfectly clear it's a no, then it's a maybe, which he might be able to slide into a yes if he plays his cards right. And hey, she's always got her safeword, right?
If the play is light, the differing way they view the situation doesn't have to become too much of a problem. The Top will do something, or say something, which rubs the bottom the wrong way; she'll let the Top know what he did was not ok with her; he'll likely apologize, and tell her he didn't know, since she didn't mention that limit in the negotiations; she'll accept his apology, and the scene will move on.
Hopefully, she'll be a little wiser for it.
But if the play is heavy, things get more perilous. The bottom may sink down into subspace far enough that she no longer has the headspace to protest what the Top is doing. Whatever he's doing is not life-threatening, it's nothing that hurts hard enough to pull her up out of subspace...but it's definitely something she would not have agreed to if he's asked her during the negotiations. It may well be something she regrets later. She's just unable to formulate her response to it at the time, to voice her opposition.
What ends up happening is that after the play is over, and she's had time to recover, the bottom feels like something happened to her that she did not want, and did not ask for. She may well feel violated, or at least uncomfortable enough to refuse to play with the Top again.
The thing is--and I know I may get some flak for this--these situations are not the Top's fault. Or at least, not solely the Top's fault. It is up to the bottom to make her limits clear; it is up to the bottom to decide on the extent of the scene; it is up to the bottom to communicate her wants, wishes, aversions, edges, triggers, rules and restrictions.
I was bottoming in a scene one time where I had told the Top in advance not to pull down my panties. He had nodded; he got it. But I had not specifically told him not to let the flogger he was using touch my cunt, even over the panties. It had not occurred to me. So when those flogger strands whipped over and up, biting into my pussy, I jacked straight up and turned around.
"Don't let that happen again," I said.
"Okay," he answered. He nodded; he got it.
That was all. The scene went on. And the next time I bottomed for someone I had never played with before, I specified: no touching my cunt, with anything, even over the panties.
Live and learn.
Tops aren't mind readers. They don't know what's going on inside your head; they don't know where you've been. You need to tell them.
Believe me, they (the good ones, at least) want to listen to you explain things to them as precisely as possible. They want to know every last detail about what you want (and what you want to avoid), so they can give you the best damn scene possible. They want you thinking about them every time you touch yourself for the next week. Hell, the next month. They want you remembering your scene with them and thinking, that was so fucking hot.
The aim, of course, to get you to want to play with them again.
So bottoms, remember this: tell your Top what you want, and what you don't want. Be as specific as possible. Don't assume he knows how to 'play' a certain way, or to use a certain toy; don't assume he'll be like the last Top you had, who used a certain technique you liked (or didn't like). Don't assume he'll know not to do that.
And if you fail to mention it to him, and he tiptoes over your boundary line...let him know, quickly, firmly, but politely. Don't assume the worst. Don't let it ruin your scene. Let him make it up to you.
And enjoy.
The first time I got this postcard, I ignored it. The office manager called me a week later, asked me if I'm coming to the appointment, and I said no, I couldn't make that time. She rescheduled me.
The second time I got this postcard, I was a little bit more pissed off, but ignored it. The office manager called me a week later, asked me if I'm coming to the appointment, and I said no, I couldn't make that time. She rescheduled me.
The third time I got this postcard, I decided I could make the day and time the office manager had graciously allotted me. I called up the office to let them know.
"Oh thank you," she said, albeit a little sarcastically, making me bristle. "It was nice of you to call this time." Her tone got me defensive.
"Well I assume you know if I don't call, I'm not coming," I said.
"Funny, some people think the exact opposite," she replied.
"What do you mean?"
"They think if they don't call to cancel, that means they are coming. We really wish people would just call and let us know."
After getting into a small but heated discussion on the wisdom of their policy of making appointments for people without their knowledge or consent--which resulted in her putting a note in my file, 'call patient first before making appointment'--I hung up.
But the conversation got me thinking.
Preliminary negotiations between a Top and bottom work much the same way as an appointment reminder postcard. A Top sends out the message he wants to play with a bottom; the bottom indicates she's interested. Now the negotiations start.
Too many times, I've heard of cases where things go bad during the scene because the bottom did not make her wishes and limits clear enough. The Top (if he's experienced at all as a Top) will know to ask certain questions, and keep a checklist in his head of things he needs to know. But there is no way that checklist is going to encompass everything the bottom wants him--needs him--to know.
It is up to the bottom to tell him.
But what if she doesn't?
The bottom assumes, if they haven't discussed it, it's off the table. If she hasn't made it perfectly clear it's ok, then it's an automatic no.
But the Top assumes if they haven't discussed it, it's a possibility. If she hasn't made it perfectly clear it's a no, then it's a maybe, which he might be able to slide into a yes if he plays his cards right. And hey, she's always got her safeword, right?
If the play is light, the differing way they view the situation doesn't have to become too much of a problem. The Top will do something, or say something, which rubs the bottom the wrong way; she'll let the Top know what he did was not ok with her; he'll likely apologize, and tell her he didn't know, since she didn't mention that limit in the negotiations; she'll accept his apology, and the scene will move on.
Hopefully, she'll be a little wiser for it.
But if the play is heavy, things get more perilous. The bottom may sink down into subspace far enough that she no longer has the headspace to protest what the Top is doing. Whatever he's doing is not life-threatening, it's nothing that hurts hard enough to pull her up out of subspace...but it's definitely something she would not have agreed to if he's asked her during the negotiations. It may well be something she regrets later. She's just unable to formulate her response to it at the time, to voice her opposition.
What ends up happening is that after the play is over, and she's had time to recover, the bottom feels like something happened to her that she did not want, and did not ask for. She may well feel violated, or at least uncomfortable enough to refuse to play with the Top again.
The thing is--and I know I may get some flak for this--these situations are not the Top's fault. Or at least, not solely the Top's fault. It is up to the bottom to make her limits clear; it is up to the bottom to decide on the extent of the scene; it is up to the bottom to communicate her wants, wishes, aversions, edges, triggers, rules and restrictions.
I was bottoming in a scene one time where I had told the Top in advance not to pull down my panties. He had nodded; he got it. But I had not specifically told him not to let the flogger he was using touch my cunt, even over the panties. It had not occurred to me. So when those flogger strands whipped over and up, biting into my pussy, I jacked straight up and turned around.
"Don't let that happen again," I said.
"Okay," he answered. He nodded; he got it.
That was all. The scene went on. And the next time I bottomed for someone I had never played with before, I specified: no touching my cunt, with anything, even over the panties.
Live and learn.
Tops aren't mind readers. They don't know what's going on inside your head; they don't know where you've been. You need to tell them.
Believe me, they (the good ones, at least) want to listen to you explain things to them as precisely as possible. They want to know every last detail about what you want (and what you want to avoid), so they can give you the best damn scene possible. They want you thinking about them every time you touch yourself for the next week. Hell, the next month. They want you remembering your scene with them and thinking, that was so fucking hot.
The aim, of course, to get you to want to play with them again.
So bottoms, remember this: tell your Top what you want, and what you don't want. Be as specific as possible. Don't assume he knows how to 'play' a certain way, or to use a certain toy; don't assume he'll be like the last Top you had, who used a certain technique you liked (or didn't like). Don't assume he'll know not to do that.
And if you fail to mention it to him, and he tiptoes over your boundary line...let him know, quickly, firmly, but politely. Don't assume the worst. Don't let it ruin your scene. Let him make it up to you.
And enjoy.
Ahad, 26 Januari 2014
*FOLSOM!*
I arrived in San Francisco early yesterday, about 9:45 AM, and took a cab from the train station to Folsom Ave. so I wouldn't have to walk it. Boy, was I sure glad I did; it started to drizzle as soon as I got there! After all the work I had done fixing my hair at home, the rain ruined it. :( Oh well.
I got a coffee at a local diner, called @winsome_gypsy, found out she and her group was still at the hotel (because duh, the fair started at 11:00 and not at 10:00 like I'd originally thought), and hung out to wait. The street was pretty empty, booths were still being set up...and the light rain was keeping people under whatever cover they could find.
Finally, around 10:30, things started to happen. Most of the booths were basically open for business, and people were starting to show up.
And then, all of a sudden, I felt like I had entered another planet.
A planet where every single fetish under the sun can come and play.
There were the ponies.
The puppies.
There were the dress-ups I had no fucking clue about.
(Yes, that's the key chain Husband bought me. I asked this guy to hold it for the picture, and he was afraid to touch it; I realized too late he was worried about where it had been, like he was afraid it was my sex toy or something. I thought it was hysterical that the guy was ballsy enough to dress like that, but cringing at the thought of holding my key chain. I think he was cringing. It was hard to tell with the mask and all.)
There were these naked dancers, doing some kind of strange modern-art dance, which frankly I did not understand AT ALL and thought quite boring after just a few minutes.
After a while, I realized something: I was fascinated by all the people/kink/fetish around me, but that wasn't what I was looking for. That wasn't what was exciting me. No, what I wanted to see was some BDSM action. I wanted to see some SPANKING.
I wanted to see some BONDAGE.
I wanted to see people propped up against a St. Andrew's Cross and worked over.
I got a coffee at a local diner, called @winsome_gypsy, found out she and her group was still at the hotel (because duh, the fair started at 11:00 and not at 10:00 like I'd originally thought), and hung out to wait. The street was pretty empty, booths were still being set up...and the light rain was keeping people under whatever cover they could find.
Finally, around 10:30, things started to happen. Most of the booths were basically open for business, and people were starting to show up.
And then, all of a sudden, I felt like I had entered another planet.
A planet where every single fetish under the sun can come and play.
There were the ponies.
There were these naked dancers, doing some kind of strange modern-art dance, which frankly I did not understand AT ALL and thought quite boring after just a few minutes.
So I hung around the spanking sections for the most part, when I wasn't doing my shopping or meeting up with people.
I got some really nice stuff there. Cuffs, a new gag, a cane...I got a really cute mini-flogger for five bucks, not because I needed one, but because it was too adorable not to buy. I told the guy, it looks like two big floggers got together and bred a little baby flogger. He had a good laugh.
Some of the highlights of the day:
I found a guy with a rather unusual hebrew tattoo.
I asked him about it, and he said it's the first three letters of God's name in Kabbalah, or something funky like that. I was just kind of like, 'oh.'
Then he told me that he was aware of the fact that the tattoo could also be read as a word, Sho'ah, which in hebrew is the word for the Holocaust. But that was not how his tattoo was supposed to be read. Then he showed me how his friend has the same tattoo--like that makes it all okay.
What I wanted to say was, 'hey, whatever floats your boat, man. I mean, if you want to have a tattoo that could be read as Sho'ah (but not really, you're missing a letter in there, if you actually knew some hebrew you'd know that), then whatever, it's your skin. At least it's legible; which, when dealing with hebrew tattoos, is a crap-shoot.'
What I said was, "it's nice. Thank you very much for letting me take your picture."
The other funny thing that happened was in a store called Mr S Leather, which I visited upon recommendation. It was filled with gay men, mostly young; understandable, given the store and the day. But many of these men looked at me like I was somehow intruding on their turf just by walking in the door. Some looked at me and turned away, others looked in surprise; but a few actually sneered at me.
Inside the store, I started checking out their selection of butt plugs, because I'm always checking out butt plugs whenever I see any available (anal slut, hello).
A couple of guys came up to me; I didn't notice them right away, until one of them said to me,
"Thinking of buying one?"
Without turning around, I said, "No." Then I heard him snickering, and looked up to see him passing a smug look to his friend, as if to say, see?
I sighed, looked down at the plug, and said, "I have too many already. Besides, this one is way too small."
The shocked look on both their faces was priceless. PRICELESS.
I hope I taught them that gay men do NOT have some kind of monopoly on anal sex. Straight women enjoy it, too.
Overall, the day was awesome.
Tomorrow: What I Learned
I Took One for the Team--Three Times, Actually
My six-year-old asked me this question the other day, while we were in the car; I didn't feel like it was the right time to answer him then, so I deflected the question.
He asked me again this morning, as we were snuggling together. I decided the time was right.
Him: Mommy, how do girls get pregnant?
Me: A man and a woman--
Him: Get married?
Me: No, they don't need to get married.
Him: How does a baby get inside her, then?
Me: You know a boy has boy parts. A penis. Right?
Him: Right....
Me: And a girl has girl parts. A vagina. Right?
Him: Right....
Me: Well, for a baby to start, a boy has to put his penis inside a girl's vagina.
Him: WHAT?
Me: A boy has to put his penis inside a girl's vagina, and an egg inside her starts to grow into a baby.
Him: Mommy, a girl doesn't have an egg inside her!
Me: Actually she does. It's teeny tiny, but it's called an egg.
Him (flabbergasted): And he has to put his PENIS inside her...?
Me: Yup.
Him (thinking this over for a minute): And Daddy did this you?
Me: Yes.
Him: And he did this THREE TIMES?
Me: ...Um, yes.
Him: Isn't it GROSS?
Me....
Him (trying to figure out the wisdom of this): Well, you do have three boys...
Me: And I love them very much.
Him (hugging me): We love you too, Mommy.
What was I supposed to say? Yes, it is kinda gross, but I make your father sleep in the sticky spot?
He asked me again this morning, as we were snuggling together. I decided the time was right.
Him: Mommy, how do girls get pregnant?
Me: A man and a woman--
Him: Get married?
Me: No, they don't need to get married.
Him: How does a baby get inside her, then?
Me: You know a boy has boy parts. A penis. Right?
Him: Right....
Me: And a girl has girl parts. A vagina. Right?
Him: Right....
Me: Well, for a baby to start, a boy has to put his penis inside a girl's vagina.
Him: WHAT?
Me: A boy has to put his penis inside a girl's vagina, and an egg inside her starts to grow into a baby.
Him: Mommy, a girl doesn't have an egg inside her!
Me: Actually she does. It's teeny tiny, but it's called an egg.
Him (flabbergasted): And he has to put his PENIS inside her...?
Me: Yup.
Him (thinking this over for a minute): And Daddy did this you?
Me: Yes.
Him: And he did this THREE TIMES?
Me: ...Um, yes.
Him: Isn't it GROSS?
Me....
Him (trying to figure out the wisdom of this): Well, you do have three boys...
Me: And I love them very much.
Him (hugging me): We love you too, Mommy.
What was I supposed to say? Yes, it is kinda gross, but I make your father sleep in the sticky spot?
Jumaat, 24 Januari 2014
:(
Husband is away on business. I'm unravelling. I'm shooting off my mouth to everyone in listening distance, sending nasty and passive/aggressive messages to people I don't even fucking know, making hasty and stupid decisions, and basically being the smart-assed masochist I am naturally, without anyone here to stop me.
I'm miserable. I'd rather get fifty swats with the silver-tipped belt, on each ass cheek, than go through this.
So no Kink Meme today, no serious post. Just a funny video of the Swedish Chef from the muppets. Cause as an anal slut I can tell you that sometimes, when you're about to take it up the ass, you feel like this turkey: get a little smooch, and then it's on with the skewering!
I'm miserable. I'd rather get fifty swats with the silver-tipped belt, on each ass cheek, than go through this.
So no Kink Meme today, no serious post. Just a funny video of the Swedish Chef from the muppets. Cause as an anal slut I can tell you that sometimes, when you're about to take it up the ass, you feel like this turkey: get a little smooch, and then it's on with the skewering!
Have a Jolly Kinky Christmas
Have a jolly kinky Christmas
It's the best time of the year
Your blood will flow
His dick you'll blow
And your pain will be severe
Have a jolly kinky Christmas
And when you're bruised and beat
With a quiet purr
Thank your Sir
For giving you such a treat
Oh, ho
Another blow
A welt where you can see
A flogger waits for you
Fling it once for me
Have a jolly kinky Christmas
And in case you didn't hear
Oh by golly
Have a jolly kinky Christmas
This year!
A few days ago, I promised my followers on Twitter if anyone sent me their kinky Christmas photos, I would post them on my blog. I only got three, but I know Molly over at Molly's Daily Kiss got more; you should go check 'em out.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
 |
courtesy twistedsheets courtesy Jenn  courtesy Hubman |
Khamis, 23 Januari 2014
Conversations with My Mother
(I posted this yesterday on Fetlife, and it's #1 on Kinky&Popular right now, so I thought I'd post it here, too.)
Conversation with my Mother
Mom: Shelby-leh, you write sexy stories, right?
Me: Yes, Mother. I write sexy stories.
Mom: Can you answer a question for me?
Me: I guess….
Mom: Why do all these writers, when they're writing sexy scenes, all use the same words?
Me: What do you mean?
Mom:…
Me: Can you give me an example what you're talking about?
Mom (quietly): Like "he put his finger in her sweet wetness." Why would they write it like that?
Me: It's called purple prose, Mother. The writer doesn't want to get too graphic, but they still want to get the image across, so they use this flowery kind of writing.
Mom: I see it all the time now. It's weird.
Me: Well, writers are putting more sex in their books, but they don't want to make them too graphic.
Mom (after a long pause): Why would he even want to put his finger in her 'sweet wetness,' anyway? And why would she want him to put his finger in her 'sweet wetness'?
Me: Mother…you've been married over forty years. If you don't know, I can't explain it to you.
Mom: Well, it's better than that 50 Shades of Grey book. I mean, that thing was just unrealistic. A girl goes on one date with a man, has sex with him, and has three orgasms?
Me: …..
Me: Yes, Mother. I write sexy stories.
Mom: Can you answer a question for me?
Me: I guess….
Mom: Why do all these writers, when they're writing sexy scenes, all use the same words?
Me: What do you mean?
Mom:…
Me: Can you give me an example what you're talking about?
Mom (quietly): Like "he put his finger in her sweet wetness." Why would they write it like that?
Me: It's called purple prose, Mother. The writer doesn't want to get too graphic, but they still want to get the image across, so they use this flowery kind of writing.
Mom: I see it all the time now. It's weird.
Me: Well, writers are putting more sex in their books, but they don't want to make them too graphic.
Mom (after a long pause): Why would he even want to put his finger in her 'sweet wetness,' anyway? And why would she want him to put his finger in her 'sweet wetness'?
Me: Mother…you've been married over forty years. If you don't know, I can't explain it to you.
Mom: Well, it's better than that 50 Shades of Grey book. I mean, that thing was just unrealistic. A girl goes on one date with a man, has sex with him, and has three orgasms?
Me: …..
Later, after telling Husband of my conversation with my Mom
Husband: I don't understand how you came into the world. Were you fucking adopted?
Me (grumbling) I wish I was.
Husband: She really doesn't know a woman can come more than once a night? Why didn't you tell her?
Me: I wasn't going to say anything. What was I going to say, 'Your son-in-law makes me have multiple orgasms on a regular basis'?
Husband: That would have been interesting. How many times did you come last night, anyway?
Me: I don't know, you tell me. You were the one with your fist in my cunt.
Husband: I'd say more than three.
Me: Well, there you go.
Husband: When I had my fingers in your sweet wetness.
Me (grumbling) I wish I was.
Husband: She really doesn't know a woman can come more than once a night? Why didn't you tell her?
Me: I wasn't going to say anything. What was I going to say, 'Your son-in-law makes me have multiple orgasms on a regular basis'?
Husband: That would have been interesting. How many times did you come last night, anyway?
Me: I don't know, you tell me. You were the one with your fist in my cunt.
Husband: I'd say more than three.
Me: Well, there you go.
Husband: When I had my fingers in your sweet wetness.
His Love of Bikini Is Our Love of Suit
It's been said a man cannot resist the vision of a nice pair of breasts. I'd have to agree with the statement; breasts, butt, curve and cunt, they all captivate the eyes and hearts of (straight) men.
But men aren't only attracted to women's naked bare bodies.
One of the most popular videos on Youtube at one point was of a woman exercising in front of a Wii. She was wearing a t-shirt that covered her entire upper body and butt, down to her thighs. She was not wearing any makeup. She was not trying to look appealing. In fact, she didn't even know her boyfriend was filming her.
But it reached the top of Youtube's list, and most of the (male straight) commentators thought she was hot.
It's not always about what a woman is wearing—or not wearing. Often, it's about what she's doing, how she's going about it, and what her attitude is.
The same applies to men. Yes, I find Husband sexy when he's naked and ready to fuck me. But there are a thousand other things he might be doing during the day, millions of them, that make me pause and catch my breath and think to myself, My God, that man of mine is HOT.
Sometimes I tell Husband I think what he's doing is sexy. Other times I do not, since I've found that once I tell him, he often exaggerates whatever it is he's doing, turning it into a parody, which is not sexy.
But here is a short list of otherwise tame and innocuous things which I think are totally sexy. I might add to it as time goes on.
When he:
•Rolls up his sleeves...very, very slowly
•Shaves using shaving cream and a razor.
•Pours water over his own sweaty head.
•Smiles wickedly.
•Uses a wrench to fix, well, anything.
•Buckles his belt around his waist.
•Unbuckles his belt around his waist.
•Walks around wearing a pair of blue jeans, open to the crotch, but no shirt or socks.
•Walks around wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.
•Rubs his face with both hands.
•Looks at me with furrowed brows.
•Falls asleep stretched out on the couch.
•Calls his mother. (Yes, I find this hot, and endearing.)
•Laughs unrestrainedly.
•Corners me against the wall.
•Grabs my wrist.
Ladies, start making your own, and share them with your man. You might surprise him.
But men aren't only attracted to women's naked bare bodies.
One of the most popular videos on Youtube at one point was of a woman exercising in front of a Wii. She was wearing a t-shirt that covered her entire upper body and butt, down to her thighs. She was not wearing any makeup. She was not trying to look appealing. In fact, she didn't even know her boyfriend was filming her.
But it reached the top of Youtube's list, and most of the (male straight) commentators thought she was hot.
It's not always about what a woman is wearing—or not wearing. Often, it's about what she's doing, how she's going about it, and what her attitude is.
The same applies to men. Yes, I find Husband sexy when he's naked and ready to fuck me. But there are a thousand other things he might be doing during the day, millions of them, that make me pause and catch my breath and think to myself, My God, that man of mine is HOT.
Sometimes I tell Husband I think what he's doing is sexy. Other times I do not, since I've found that once I tell him, he often exaggerates whatever it is he's doing, turning it into a parody, which is not sexy.
But here is a short list of otherwise tame and innocuous things which I think are totally sexy. I might add to it as time goes on.
When he:
•Rolls up his sleeves...very, very slowly
•Shaves using shaving cream and a razor.
•Pours water over his own sweaty head.
•Smiles wickedly.
•Uses a wrench to fix, well, anything.
•Buckles his belt around his waist.
•Unbuckles his belt around his waist.
•Walks around wearing a pair of blue jeans, open to the crotch, but no shirt or socks.
•Walks around wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.
•Rubs his face with both hands.
•Looks at me with furrowed brows.
•Falls asleep stretched out on the couch.
•Calls his mother. (Yes, I find this hot, and endearing.)
•Laughs unrestrainedly.
•Corners me against the wall.
•Grabs my wrist.
Ladies, start making your own, and share them with your man. You might surprise him.
Rabu, 22 Januari 2014
We Interupt this Meme to Bring You a new Video: Simon's Pussy Chasing a Cute Piece of Tail
Cause, you know, it's not like my whole LIFE is about kink. And this video is just too damn funny not to share.
Selasa, 21 Januari 2014
A Spoof on Aftercare
Let us say now you followed all the rules. You found a woman, the two of you got to talking, maybe even watched each other's play technique with other people; you started negotiations, decided on a scene, and it all went really well. So well, in fact, that now you feel like James Fucking Bond, Agent of Tophood, Masterdom, and All That Is Sadistic, and your play partner is sacked out where you left her, looking like her brains have been shaken, not stirred. The world is awesome.
TIME FOR AFTERCARE.
Oh, but wait! You two didn't negotiate aftercare! You didn't realize it was necessary! Well, that's ok. See, unlike the scene the two of you just hashed out, aftercare has nothing to do with what she wants. Hell, she doesn't know what she wants anymore. Look at her; her eyeballs are rolling around her head like a pair of googly-eyes on a cookie monster doll. It's up to you now to know what she needs. Be the Top! Treat her the way she needs to be treated! She may not thank you now, but she'll be grateful in the long run, believe me.
(And I must know what I'm talking about, cause I'm taking the time to write a whole fucking post on aftercare, and these posts are always chock full of awesome goodness, aren't they?)
1. Set her down somewhere in a dark, quiet corner to relax. It should be dark enough that she can fall asleep if she wants to. Hell, it should be dark enough she can't see one foot in front of the other, cause why should she? It's not like she's going anywhere. In fact, it might be a good idea to put some legos on the floor, so you know if tries to get up and walk around; her hollers will warn you in a hurry, so you can put her right back where she belongs. If her friends think it's weird you're hiding her away where nobody can see her, snub your noses at them. This is aftercare, baby.
2. Make sure she has a nice, cozy blanket around her. Her arms should be good and snug by her sides, so she can't flail them around and accidentally hurt herself. Remember, she's got about as much sense now as a newborn babe; in her state, she might do some real damage to her face. In fact, it might be a good idea to go ahead and get out the nail clippers--blunt those nails down. Now's not the time to worry about her manicure. THIS IS HER SAFETY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.
If you don't have a blanket, a straitjacket will do. The important thing is to make her feel secure, protected, and cared for. As you're fastening the straitjacket, you can whisper sweet words in her ear about how she's not going anywhere, and you've got her under your complete control. Let her feel the love.
3. Put some cream on those bruises. Arnica cream is awesome for this; petals from the Calendula Officinalis plant are good, too, and what's better, you can make a tea out of them! Just stick a funnel in her mouth and pour it down her throat. Remember, she needs to be rehydrated, and it's your job to see to her needs!
As you're applying the cream to her skin, rub it in like you're preparing a nice, juicy steak for the grill. It might hurt her, but hey, that's what S and M are all about. While you're rubbing, you can sing a little song to lighten the mood, like "It rubs the lotion on Its skin." The funny looks she'll give you will be those of admiration and respect.
If some of her skin has been cut, take heed: you don't want those cuts to get infected! It's time to pour on the alcohol. She'll scream with pleasure.
4. Give her some food. Have some ready, whatever you think you'll be in the mood for, since you know you'll be noshing on it, too, and she won't really care anyway. Don't worry now about any allergies she might suffer from; the important thing is to get her energy levels and endorphins back up. Chocolate is the best thing for this. If she refuses to eat the chocolate (for some stupid reason like she's on a diet or it has peanuts), pretend like you're in the Harry Potter universe and she's just been attacked by Dementors: GET THAT CHOCOLATE IN HER BELLEH. It's for her own good. If she continues to balk, pretend like you're a real wizard, get your wand out, and start yelling expecto patronum! around the room. A little cosplay never hurt anybody.
5. Give her time. Again, she's not going anywhere until you decide she's safe and ready to go. It could be hours; it could be minutes, if your ride's waiting for you and they've already got the engine idling. The important thing is to make sure she gets to her next destination safely. If you can't do this, ask a couple of your friends to watch over her. It doesn't matter if she knows them or not; she needs to trust in you now, to make the best decisions for her. And those "friends" you just made at the bar, who are eyeing her like she's fresh-baked bread? They will take awesome care of her while you move on to your next scene. (No, you don't need their last names or phone numbers, and it's impolite of you to ask. Confidentiality is key here.)
6. Check in on her the next day to make sure she's ok. If she doesn't accept your phone calls, keep trying; she might just be processing the lovely scene you two shared. If she starts yelling and screaming at you over the phone to leave her the fuck alone, don't take it personally--she's just going through subdrop. In fact, if she is going through subdrop, it might be a good idea to show up at her place unannounced just to let her know how pleased you are with her and how you'd love to play with her again sometime...like, maybe, right now? Don't take it personally if she calls the cops. Again, this is normal subdrop behavior. She'll get over it, and once she does, she'll be fine, ready, and raring to go!
TIME FOR AFTERCARE.
Oh, but wait! You two didn't negotiate aftercare! You didn't realize it was necessary! Well, that's ok. See, unlike the scene the two of you just hashed out, aftercare has nothing to do with what she wants. Hell, she doesn't know what she wants anymore. Look at her; her eyeballs are rolling around her head like a pair of googly-eyes on a cookie monster doll. It's up to you now to know what she needs. Be the Top! Treat her the way she needs to be treated! She may not thank you now, but she'll be grateful in the long run, believe me.
(And I must know what I'm talking about, cause I'm taking the time to write a whole fucking post on aftercare, and these posts are always chock full of awesome goodness, aren't they?)
1. Set her down somewhere in a dark, quiet corner to relax. It should be dark enough that she can fall asleep if she wants to. Hell, it should be dark enough she can't see one foot in front of the other, cause why should she? It's not like she's going anywhere. In fact, it might be a good idea to put some legos on the floor, so you know if tries to get up and walk around; her hollers will warn you in a hurry, so you can put her right back where she belongs. If her friends think it's weird you're hiding her away where nobody can see her, snub your noses at them. This is aftercare, baby.
2. Make sure she has a nice, cozy blanket around her. Her arms should be good and snug by her sides, so she can't flail them around and accidentally hurt herself. Remember, she's got about as much sense now as a newborn babe; in her state, she might do some real damage to her face. In fact, it might be a good idea to go ahead and get out the nail clippers--blunt those nails down. Now's not the time to worry about her manicure. THIS IS HER SAFETY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.
If you don't have a blanket, a straitjacket will do. The important thing is to make her feel secure, protected, and cared for. As you're fastening the straitjacket, you can whisper sweet words in her ear about how she's not going anywhere, and you've got her under your complete control. Let her feel the love.
3. Put some cream on those bruises. Arnica cream is awesome for this; petals from the Calendula Officinalis plant are good, too, and what's better, you can make a tea out of them! Just stick a funnel in her mouth and pour it down her throat. Remember, she needs to be rehydrated, and it's your job to see to her needs!
As you're applying the cream to her skin, rub it in like you're preparing a nice, juicy steak for the grill. It might hurt her, but hey, that's what S and M are all about. While you're rubbing, you can sing a little song to lighten the mood, like "It rubs the lotion on Its skin." The funny looks she'll give you will be those of admiration and respect.
If some of her skin has been cut, take heed: you don't want those cuts to get infected! It's time to pour on the alcohol. She'll scream with pleasure.
4. Give her some food. Have some ready, whatever you think you'll be in the mood for, since you know you'll be noshing on it, too, and she won't really care anyway. Don't worry now about any allergies she might suffer from; the important thing is to get her energy levels and endorphins back up. Chocolate is the best thing for this. If she refuses to eat the chocolate (for some stupid reason like she's on a diet or it has peanuts), pretend like you're in the Harry Potter universe and she's just been attacked by Dementors: GET THAT CHOCOLATE IN HER BELLEH. It's for her own good. If she continues to balk, pretend like you're a real wizard, get your wand out, and start yelling expecto patronum! around the room. A little cosplay never hurt anybody.
5. Give her time. Again, she's not going anywhere until you decide she's safe and ready to go. It could be hours; it could be minutes, if your ride's waiting for you and they've already got the engine idling. The important thing is to make sure she gets to her next destination safely. If you can't do this, ask a couple of your friends to watch over her. It doesn't matter if she knows them or not; she needs to trust in you now, to make the best decisions for her. And those "friends" you just made at the bar, who are eyeing her like she's fresh-baked bread? They will take awesome care of her while you move on to your next scene. (No, you don't need their last names or phone numbers, and it's impolite of you to ask. Confidentiality is key here.)
6. Check in on her the next day to make sure she's ok. If she doesn't accept your phone calls, keep trying; she might just be processing the lovely scene you two shared. If she starts yelling and screaming at you over the phone to leave her the fuck alone, don't take it personally--she's just going through subdrop. In fact, if she is going through subdrop, it might be a good idea to show up at her place unannounced just to let her know how pleased you are with her and how you'd love to play with her again sometime...like, maybe, right now? Don't take it personally if she calls the cops. Again, this is normal subdrop behavior. She'll get over it, and once she does, she'll be fine, ready, and raring to go!
So there you have it. A guide to aftercare. Remember, it's all up to you now.
She's bloody and loopy, but don't despair! She just needs some aftercare!
(*In all seriousness, I do not understand why so few couples negotiate aftercare before they start a heavy scene. But if this happens to you, the most important thing is to follow the bottom's cues, do whatever is right for her/him, and don't blindly follow any piece of advice you read in a BDSM post just because it was written by some "expert." You didn't play with the "expert," you played with the bottom in front of you. Their wishes, and their safety, is most important.)
An Example of What Happens When We Do Vanilla
Me: Do you want me?
Him: What kind of question is that? Of course I want you. I always want you.
Me: So can we have sex? Like, right now? Cause I want it, but I'm getting tired.
Him: What do you want, a quickie?
Me: Yes.
Him: No.
Me: No? You don't want me for a quickie?
Him: Not really. It always turns into "I can't breathe" and "oh my hair."
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Him: Fine. We'll go have a quickie, and you'll see.
We go upstairs, unceremoniously get naked, and lie down in bed. I rub his cock until it's hard, and then he starts to climb on top of me.
Him: You're dry.
Me: I'm tired.
Him: I don't care anymore.
His words serve to excite me a little, and I wetten up some. He thrusts inside and leans into me. As he begins to get serious, he balances his weight onto his elbows, but I'm still getting crushed.
Me: Can you lift up a little? I can't breathe.
He shifts his weight, moving over his elbows.
Me: Ow, my hair! Your arm is on my hair!
Him: (still thrusting) I told you. "I can't breathe; oh my hair." Don't laugh, you'll push me out!
Me: (Laughing so hard tears are forming)
Him: (Also beginning to laugh...but still pumping) Fine, laugh. But I'm not stopping.
Me: I can't breathe! Ow, my hair!
Him: .....
(About three minutes later)
Me: Well that was fast.
Him: You asked for a quickie.
Me: I didn't mean that fast.
Him: Too bad. You got what you asked for.
Me: But...could you help finish me off?
Him: Yes. Cause I'm a nice guy. (Starts pleasuring me with his fingers, makes a face at me) "I can't breathe! Ow, my hair!"
Me: (Laughing) If you make me laugh, I can't come!
Him: Well this sounds like a fun experiment. How long can I keep you from coming by making you laugh?
I did come a few minutes later. But it probably would have taken just as long, and been much more exciting, if I had taken a couple moments to get into the proper headspace before and come with him, instead of trying to take what I call "the vanilla way out."
Him: What kind of question is that? Of course I want you. I always want you.
Me: So can we have sex? Like, right now? Cause I want it, but I'm getting tired.
Him: What do you want, a quickie?
Me: Yes.
Him: No.
Me: No? You don't want me for a quickie?
Him: Not really. It always turns into "I can't breathe" and "oh my hair."
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Him: Fine. We'll go have a quickie, and you'll see.
We go upstairs, unceremoniously get naked, and lie down in bed. I rub his cock until it's hard, and then he starts to climb on top of me.
Him: You're dry.
Me: I'm tired.
Him: I don't care anymore.
His words serve to excite me a little, and I wetten up some. He thrusts inside and leans into me. As he begins to get serious, he balances his weight onto his elbows, but I'm still getting crushed.
Me: Can you lift up a little? I can't breathe.
He shifts his weight, moving over his elbows.
Me: Ow, my hair! Your arm is on my hair!
Him: (still thrusting) I told you. "I can't breathe; oh my hair." Don't laugh, you'll push me out!
Me: (Laughing so hard tears are forming)
Him: (Also beginning to laugh...but still pumping) Fine, laugh. But I'm not stopping.
Me: I can't breathe! Ow, my hair!
Him: .....
(About three minutes later)
Me: Well that was fast.
Him: You asked for a quickie.
Me: I didn't mean that fast.
Him: Too bad. You got what you asked for.
Me: But...could you help finish me off?
Him: Yes. Cause I'm a nice guy. (Starts pleasuring me with his fingers, makes a face at me) "I can't breathe! Ow, my hair!"
Me: (Laughing) If you make me laugh, I can't come!
Him: Well this sounds like a fun experiment. How long can I keep you from coming by making you laugh?
I did come a few minutes later. But it probably would have taken just as long, and been much more exciting, if I had taken a couple moments to get into the proper headspace before and come with him, instead of trying to take what I call "the vanilla way out."
Isnin, 20 Januari 2014
Sometimes I'm Sick In the Not-So-Kinky Way
So I've been dealing with a cold for the week. And I don't know about you, but I consider having a cold for a whole week a Long Fucking Time. That rule about guests staying for three days? It should apply to colds too, you guys.
Unfortunately, like extended family, colds seem to put their fingers in their ears and do the la la la, I can't hear you song when you insinuate it is time for them to move on.
This morning I was texting Husband how sick and tired I am of being sick and tired.
He responded with one simple question: "Did you take Robitussin?"
DO'H! No I had not. But then I did...and man, is this stuff awesome, or what?
I feel so much better now!
I could run to the moon and back!
I could learn Russian in a day!
I might be a little high right now.
Not high enough to be completely non-functional, thank God. Just high enough to send an email to a friend letting him know I cannot forward him a link to a website, because I do not have his email address.
Yes, that just happened.
So I think now would be the perfect time to remind all you guys I'm giving a class at Folsom Fringe this year, it's exactly one week away, and I've decided I'm going hand out M&Ms at the end of my class. Maybe even M&M cookies.
Cause this is the dark side. We're supposed to have cookies.
Also, as I've been doing the last few years, I'm going to be live tweeting Folsom Street Faire, but this year, I'm going to bring a bag of googly eyes with me, and every toy I buy, I'm going to put googly eyes on it before I take a picture to show you.
Because...why not?
KINK IS FUN!
Unfortunately, like extended family, colds seem to put their fingers in their ears and do the la la la, I can't hear you song when you insinuate it is time for them to move on.
This morning I was texting Husband how sick and tired I am of being sick and tired.
He responded with one simple question: "Did you take Robitussin?"
DO'H! No I had not. But then I did...and man, is this stuff awesome, or what?
I feel so much better now!
I could run to the moon and back!
I could learn Russian in a day!
I might be a little high right now.
Not high enough to be completely non-functional, thank God. Just high enough to send an email to a friend letting him know I cannot forward him a link to a website, because I do not have his email address.
Yes, that just happened.
So I think now would be the perfect time to remind all you guys I'm giving a class at Folsom Fringe this year, it's exactly one week away, and I've decided I'm going hand out M&Ms at the end of my class. Maybe even M&M cookies.
Cause this is the dark side. We're supposed to have cookies.
Also, as I've been doing the last few years, I'm going to be live tweeting Folsom Street Faire, but this year, I'm going to bring a bag of googly eyes with me, and every toy I buy, I'm going to put googly eyes on it before I take a picture to show you.
Because...why not?
KINK IS FUN!
10 Kinky Things to Do With Your Thanksgiving Meal
- Practice your shibari on the turkey.
- Get two turkey basters: one for the turkey, and one for the lady.
- Use the baster to lube up the lady's cunt, if she needs it, or her ass, if that's what she's into. If it's going in her ass, make sure it's extra large.
- Wear your favorite Thanksgiving Day apron around the house, and nothing else. (Ok, oven mitts are allowed.)
- Before you set the table with all your elegant china, have sex on it.
- Get creative with your centerpiece: if possible, use a naked lady, tied to the ceiling, cuffed and blindfolded. Tell your guests they are welcome to touch.
- Before the meal starts, tell everyone you have a tradition of giving 10 spanks to all the guests around the table. However, for every one thing they can think of to be thankful for, you take one spank away. That'll get them to open up.
- If anyone refuses to help clear the dishes, cuff their hands behind their backs, and tell them they have to eat dessert that way.
- For dessert, serve ice cream in chocolate vagina molds.
- After the meal is over, everyone will be very tired, especially your centerpiece. Get them moving again with a violet wand. A good shock to their bottoms should get them moving again.
Rabu, 15 Januari 2014
A Tale of Safewords
A short story, meant to be funny, inspired by last weekend's SoBad meeting. Because writing this beat doing laundry.
Once upon a time there lived an incredibly kinky, horny, and lecherous Dom. This Dom lived with his submissive, named SubMiss, and his slave, named Slave. The three of them together made up the House of MasterDom. Unfortunately, this Dom was not very smart; but that was okay, because neither were his two women.
One day, MasterDom called his submissive and his slave downstairs to the dungeon.
“SubMiss!” MasterDom called. “Slave! Come down here, RIGHT NOW, please!”
Being the ever-obedient sub and slave they were, the two women rushed down to the dungeon to find their Lord and Master, MasterDom, waiting for them in the middle of the room.
Unfortunately, Slave had been in the process of cleaning out the litter box of their cat, Pussy, when she had heard her Master’s call, and so she was still wearing a pair of long yellow rubber gloves. MasterDom frowned when he saw Slave kneeling before him wearing the gloves.
“You know you are not supposed to enter the dungeon wearing any clothes, Slave,” he said.
“I’m sorry, MasterDom,” Slave said. “But you called, and I didn’t want to take the time to remove the gloves first. Shall I do so now?”
“No,” MasterDom sighed. “There is no place to put them here. You might as well just leave them on.”
“Yes, MasterDom.”
“Now then, “ MasterDom said, getting down to business and addressing both women, “I have called you in here because my new flogger has finally arrived from SirLordMasterUberDom.com, and I would like to try it out. SubMiss, since Slave is stuck wearing the rubber gloves, I guess you’ll have to be my first test subject.”
“Yes, MasterDom,” Sub replied, her eyes growing wide. “Shall I stand against the St. Andrew’s Cross?”
“What a marvelous idea! I mean, yes, SubMiss, go stand against the Cross.”
SubMiss went to stand against the Cross, and MasterDom buckled her into the restraints. But before MasterDom could begin flogging her with his brand new flogger, Slave stopped him.
“MasterDom,” she said, “Allow me to remind you, in my most humble supplication, that we need to agree on a new safeword. Our last one did not work so well.”
“Oh, yes,” MasterDom said, slapping the flogger against his thigh. “Harder did not really work as a safeword, did it? Neither did Owie, now that I think of it. Okay, we must all agree on a new safeword, and this time, let’s make it a good one.”
“It must be something we wouldn’t normally say in conversation, or during a scene,” Slave said. “Something that stands out.”
“This is very true,” MasterDom agreed. “Do you have any ideas, Slave?”
“How about ‘copacetic’?” Slave offered.
“Copacetic? What does that mean?”
“It means satisfactory,” she told him.
“Its sounds like the name of a medicine,” MasterDom replied, scowling.
“Well, it’s certainly not something you’d use during a BDSM scene, is it?” Slave said. “But if you don’t like it, how about ‘lugubrious’?”
“Lugubrious?” MasterDom repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means dismal.”
“It sounds like something that comes out of your nose,” MasterDom said. “Think of something else.”
“Okay…how about effluvium?”
“Effluvium?” MasterDom cocked his brow. “Are you just making words up now, Slave?”
“No, MasterDom,” Slave shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that, no way. Effluvium means an unpleasant smell.”
“All these words you’re giving me are very strange,” MasterDom said. “Can’t you give me something more normal?”
“But you want it to be strange, MasterDom,” Slave reminded him. “You want it to be a word we wouldn’t normally use.”
“This is true,” MasterDom sighed. “Can you give me something more pleasant sounding? And more kinky?”
“How about hornswoggle?”
“Hornswoggle certainly sounds more kinky,” MasterDom had to agree. “It has the word horn in it. Any word with horn in it has to be kinky. What does it mean?”
“It means to deceive,” Slave replied.
MasterDom pursed his lips. “Give me another word,” he said. “Something with more of an erotic meaning.”
“Well then, how about concupiscent?” Slave replied. “It means ‘possessed of erotic desire.’ ”
“I like it,” MasterDom said. “That’s the one. SubMiss, did you hear what the safeword is?”
“Concupiscent,” Sub said, giggling against the Cross. “It sounds funny.”
“Be serious, now!” MasterDom yelled, raising the flogger. “There is no giggling allowed in a BDSM scene! BDSM IS SERIOUS BUSINESS!”
“Sorry, MasterDom,” Sub said, contrite. “I won’t do it again.”
“Good!” MasterDom said. “Now let’s begin. Are the restraints around your wrists okay?”
“They are copacetic,” Sub replied.
“Why, SubMiss,” MasterDom said, shocked. “Are you trying to safeword before we even begin the scene?”
“No MasterDom,” SubMiss said. “I’m saying the restraints are satisfactory. Our safeword is concupiscent, remember?”
“That’s right,” MasterDom said, remembering. “No giggling, SubMiss!”
“Sorry, MasterDom.”
“Okay then. If the restraints are good, we shall begin.”
MasterDom began to flog SubMiss against the cross. Soon, she was crying and howling, and MasterDom had a huge smile on his face.
“How does it feel, SubMiss?” He asked between hits.
“Lugubrious!” Sub shouted.
MasterDom stopped the flogger mid-swing and stepped back. “What did you have to safeword for?”
“Why MasterDom, I wasn’t trying to safeword,” SubMiss said, surprised. “You asked me how it felt, and I was trying to say dismal. This new flogger really hurts.”
“Oh,” MasterDom said. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, we shall now continue, SubMiss.”
“Yes, MasterDom.”
MasterDom began to flog SubMiss once more. As the flogging continued, the marks on SubMiss’s thighs and ass grew redder and redder.
“Oh, SubMiss, you look so beautiful,” MasterDom said in a hoarse voice. “Your bottom is so sexy.”
“Concupiscent,” Sub cried.
“That’s right, I’m feeling concupiscent, too,” MasterDom agreed, flogging her harder.
“Concupiscent! Concupiscent!”
“MasterDom, I think SubMiss is trying to safeword,” Slave remarked.
MasterDom lowered the flogger. “SubMiss, are you trying to safeword?”
“Yes, MasterDom!” Sub shouted. “Something in here smells really awful! I can’t take it anymore! What is that stench?”
“Effluvium,” Slave said.
MasterDom rounded on her. “Now why are you trying to safeword?” he yelled. “You’re not even the one getting flogged!”
“No, I mean, I think there’s a bad odor in the air,” Slave said. She sniffed her gloves and grimaced. “I think the smell is coming from my gloves.”
“Why would your gloves smell bad?” MasterDom asked.
“Because of the box.”
“Which box?”
“Pussy’s box.”
“Your pussy smells?” MasterDom asked, cringing. “Ew. You should have that looked into, Slave.”
“No, MasterDom, it’s from the cat’s litter box. I was cleaning it out with the gloves on before I came down here. “
“Ah, that makes more sense,” MasterDom said, relieved. “I have to agree, the smell is getting in the way of the scene. Perhaps we should stop for now, and continue this later.”
“Yes, MasterDom,” SubMiss said, slouching against the Cross. “Please.”
MasterDom uncuffed SubMiss from the St. Andrew’s Cross. “You did good under the circumstances, SubMiss,” he said. “I’m sure our next scene will be better.”
“Hornswoggle,” SubMiss replied.
“No need to safeword now, the scene is over,” MasterDom said in a comforting voice.
Submiss turned around. “MasterDom, may I make a humble suggestion? From now on, could we stick with ‘red’ as our safeword? It is much easier to remember.”
“Why SubMiss, what a marvelous idea,” MasterDom said. “I wonder why no one’s ever thought of it before. Red! It’s perfect. What an amazing submissive you are.”
“Thank you, MasterDom,” SubMiss said, smiling. The three of them returned upstairs, with Slave in the lead.
My Next Project
Do you guys know about this website, Postsecret? It's this place where people can send in their secrets, written out on a self-made postcard. They come out with new postcards every Sunday. It's a pretty awesome site. 
I was talking with Husband about postcards we would send in, if we were ever struck with the sudden initiative. Mine would most likely be something about my mom.
"Mine would definitely be kinky," he said.
"Oh?" I said. "Like what?"
"Like me holding a big huge paddle," he said, chuckling. "Maybe the one Mrs. Maguire gave us."
"What would the postcard say?"
"I'm lonely," he said, and burst out laughing. I laughed, too.
"Oh my god, that's SO EMO," I said, and he laughed harder. If you know Husband, you know he's not an Emo kind of guy. At All.
"We should send a whole series of Emo postcards with kinky pictures," I said. "They won't know what to do with them!"
"They won't publish them," Husband said, dismissing the idea.
You know who'd publish them? You know who, lovely kinksters?
ME!
I'm going to start a whole series of BDSM pictures with Emo messages. I invite you all to make your own. You should try it, it's fun! Here's a few to get you started.
Isnin, 13 Januari 2014
A Letter to My Son
My Dear Child,
I have a confession to make to you.
Your father and I have been lying to you.
I know it's hard to hear that; we've always done our best to be honest and forthright with you. But the fact is, we've been feeding you little white lies for years, and it's time to come clean.
1. That sword we keep in the bedroom, next to the mirror? It's not in case of zombie apocalypse. The truth is, it makes an awesome sex prop during a play scene. You do have to be careful with it; it's a bit unwieldy. But it's also totally fun.
2. That container in our bathroom cabinet, the one you're not allowed to touch? It's not full of poisonous and dangerous cleaning supplies. It holds all of mom's sex toys--the insertable ones, anyway. Taking a look inside that container may just burn your eyes as much as an accidental spray of bleach to your face, though.
3. That big black bag in our closet? It's not full of mom's "thin" clothes she hopes to fit into again someday. Believe me, your mom is more clever than that; she knows that's never going to happen. No, that bag is filled with whips, floggers, spreader bars, cuffs, collars, straps and hooks, everything your mom and dad need to have a good fucking time, literally. Sorry, that might have been TMI.
4. That rocking sound you hear in the middle of the night sometimes? It's not mom sitting in the rocking chair at odd hours. Please understand, we try our best to muffle the sounds we make, sometimes with mixed results. We've tried padding pillows between the wall and the headboard and trying to keep our wild gyrations down to a minimum, but sometimes, all efforts fail, and well...what can I say. Rhythm is gonna getcha.
5. Those screams you hear from me on a regular basis? It's not your father "tickling" me. Well, sometimes it is, when he's applying tickle torture. But most of the time, it's just good old fashion pain. And believe me, it is good. Oops, TMI again.
6. That bottle of KY jelly you found in the glove compartment of my car? Yeah, I got nothin'.
The truth is, son, I have a feeling you already know what's going on, and what the score is between your father and me. Your father and I have a unique kind of relationship--well, not that unique, plenty of other people have it, too, but you'll have to wait until you're older to find out about that, and only if you want to--and we love it. It's one of the main reasons why we found each other, why we've been together for as long as we have, and why we have every plan on growing old together and dying together. The dynamic we have wouldn't work for everyone, but it works for us, and I hope someday, you can accept that.
But for now, we can all just play along and keep saying that your mom likes to rock in the rocking chair at one o'clock in the morning, that she has every intention of fitting into those skirts again someday, that she is only trying to keep your precious eyes safe by keeping you away from those nasty cleaning supplies, and the sword in the bedroom really is just in case of zombie apocalypse.
We won't mention the KY Jelly in the car. Ever. Please and thank you.
Motivation is everything, I guess
Husband came home yesterday in a good mood. Thursdays are generally slow days, but yesterday was particularly sedate.
"R's girlfriend was in the office today," he told me. "She hung around for a few hours. She borrowed a desk to get some work done."
"That's nice," I said.
He looked away and smiled. "R and she kept making smoochie-smoochie with each other," he said.
"What?" I said, shocked. "They were kissing in the office?"
"No, not really kissing," he said. "But you know, telling each other 'I love you,' kissing each other on the cheek, that kind of thing. Sweet smoochie-smoochie stuff."
"Aw, that's cute."
He shrugged.
"If I visited your office, would you make sweet smoochie with me?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked, upset.
"Because I'd fuck you in the bathroom!" He said, smiling devilishly. "It's why I don't want you visiting my office at all."
Um…thank you?
"R's girlfriend was in the office today," he told me. "She hung around for a few hours. She borrowed a desk to get some work done."
"That's nice," I said.
He looked away and smiled. "R and she kept making smoochie-smoochie with each other," he said.
"What?" I said, shocked. "They were kissing in the office?"
"No, not really kissing," he said. "But you know, telling each other 'I love you,' kissing each other on the cheek, that kind of thing. Sweet smoochie-smoochie stuff."
"Aw, that's cute."
He shrugged.
"If I visited your office, would you make sweet smoochie with me?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked, upset.
"Because I'd fuck you in the bathroom!" He said, smiling devilishly. "It's why I don't want you visiting my office at all."
Um…thank you?
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