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The First Time Again

♦ Our ‘new’ mattress is a little harder and the room a little lighter. There are long-forgotten trinkets still strewn on the floor and half-filled drawers waiting for clothes and clutter. An unfamiliar ceiling. A single floorboard that creaks.

But he, at least, is familiar.

Days of drudgery and Domestos have sunk tiredness deep into our bones and our brains are fuzzy from weariness and fumes. We have relied on each other to put in the elbow grease and take care of tasks, but we haven’t yet sunk into each others bare arms in this house other than to flop into fitful sleep.

His hair is tousled and his body, as always, is full of soft curves and hard edges: a smooth belly, jutting hips, long limbs and the barest hint of plush, dark hair. He crawls into bed from the edge and peppers my naked breast with kisses. I ache for affection not snuck between hefting boxes or scrubbing surfaces. I long for the feel of him, the leisure of his body and the pleasure of his cock.

I press into his kisses and plant my own on his shoulder and neck, undulating under his mouth. I slip my hands from his torso as he starts to nibble at my nipple and I move one to his cock and one to my clit.

He lies down next to me, still with good access to my body and lets me stroke us both. His foot is planted steadily against the wall and I hook my leg over his lightly, giving myself better access to the sensations knotting around my clitoris.

I struggle to keep us both at our preferred rhythms – him slower and me faster – as he takes a nipple in each hand and presses and rolls them between his fingertips.

Our little moans and sighs of content mingle in the high-ceilinged room and I edge towards orgasm. After a little rearrangement of my pillows, I am there, gasping and groaning as I shatter the tension built up in my body and shudder into my climax.

I am still masturbating him slowly but now I turn to him and tell him I want him to fuck me. I want him inside me. I want to melt back into desire with him. I want to make it clear that the worst of the life-fuss is over and I can start to relax, that we can reclaim our lust together from the clutches of responsibility.

He pulls himself around so he kneels between my legs and pushes his cockhead against my wettened slit. I so want this. I gasp as he enters me, my cunt still tender and tuned-up from my orgasm. I ask him to keep his angle low so I can really enjoy the full size of him as he strokes the top of my pussy and thrusts me into happiness.

I love the feel of cock on cunt. I writhe in pleasure as I stroke myself leisurely, watching his gorgeous face change with his efforts. Soon he is coming inside me, groaning in the release of too much built-up tension. It has been far too long for both of us.

I pull him down on top of me and feel the last twitches of his cock inside me. The house is ours now and he is mine, but, perhaps more importantly, I belong to myself again, not to life’s little irks. There’s nothing like having a first time all over again.

The Perils of Packing

♦ Last week I went to the pub wearing my packing cock. I don’t have any packing pants at the moment, though the fantastic RodeoH are working on that (so excited!), so I settled for tucking my Mr Limpy into a pair of boypants.

I added jeans, a shirt and a tie, but I kept the bra and boobs, because cock or not, I like my boobs. And off I went. Here’s a snap of me getting dressed.

It was fantastic. I’m not sure if my friends noticed, but I don’t much care either way. I felt sexy, confident and slightly turned on. I’m not going to do it all the time, but I do like it.

There is one slight problem with packing in pants that don’t have a pouch, though. Going to the toilet. Down come the pants and, if you don’t have a plan, out will fall the packer. Luckily, I had an idea. Pub toilets may have rohypnol in mind rather than the perils of packing, but beggars can’t be choosers! ♦

Toy with me Tuesday

Roped Up

♦ I have two coils of rope, which I don’t use enough. This one is white and the other black. This one, I think, may not actually be sold as bondage rope, but it works perfectly well. It’s still strong and thick and soft. It still feels good wrapped around skin.

This picture is from a little while ago now where I decided it was about time we did some shibari on both me and Crush. I really want to get to grips with rope bondage and I still have fancies in my head of having one of those emergency rope bracelets so that I’m ready for emergency bondage at any time. ;)

So, without further ado, here’s me lying back and enjoying the caress of the karada Crush tied me into. It’s not expertly done or anything, but it’s a good start and I loved being in it nonetheless.  ♦

See who else is playing Sinful Sunday this week…

 

Come At Me

♦ This is a slightly dark, slightly intimate, slightly raw one for me that I just wrote today. But, hey, if I can’t share something like this, it’s hardly in the spirit of the poem, is it? Note to potential psychos: consent is vital. ♦

I stare into your maw with ropes around my wrists
I had let you take me and tie me, led like a lamb
Docile, calm

I am here to make you break me

I wait for the gale of your howl to shake my bindings
I ache for the hot damp of your breath on my face
You’d better be ready

I am here to make you break me

I don’t think it will be hard
I’m not that tough, alright?
Sure, I talk big
I tell you I’m comfortable with my desires
I don’t want to be comfortable

There are dark, wriggling things chained up in my ribcage
Break me open
Set them free
Spill my desires at your feet
Hoist them up before my face

I am here to make you break me

Drag me by my hair
Pull me to the depths
Show me what I really want

I sit, a willing sacrifice, in your lair
I look you in the eye and dare you
Come at me

I am here to make you break me

TMI Tuesday – It’s Just A Fantasy

♦ When TMI Tuesday talks sex, I talk TMI Tuesday. This one looks like a particularly interesting-looking one. ♦

1. If your lover was turned on by forced feminisation would you participate (giving or receiving)?

I would certainly participate, but it’s not something that overly appeals to me. I don’t like frills on men much, but lace is a good look on men in the knickers area. I have a few pictures I love of men in corsets and stockings, but even then I prefer the less floofy look. My friend Alt cross dresses in women’s clothes often and I’ve got to admit he’s pretty hot when he does, but I don’t actually like it when he wears things that are too girly-girl. I even like my skirt-wearing men ungirly! Though I stand to be corrected.

Anyway, I’d totally participate if my partner had a kink for it for several reasons: 1) It doesn’t squick me or bother me, so I should indulge it because they enjoy it, 2) It’d certainly be interesting and 3) I might even like it because of how much they enjoy it.

I probably wouldn’t let anyone sissify me, though, but then I can’t see why feminising a girl’d appeal to anyone. :P

2. When you have sexual dreams or fantasies that are aggressive or cruel, does it worry you?

It used to. I’ve had some vivid sex dreams and some of them have actually been quite disturbing for a variety of reasons. I’ve had some aggressive/cruel ones too. They come in two flavours: A) I’m the victim, B) I’m the perpetrator.

In the case of A, it used to bother me a fair bit, but then, most things did. Recall that for quite a while I was terrified of liking women in case I became a lesbian. At the time, it made sense, now it doesn’t. So, yes, when at quite a young age I had one of my typical action-damsel-in distress (even tied up it was because I was a kick-ass hero) daydreams turn into sexual assault and rape, I was pretty worried. These days, I understand it and myself better and I’ve accepted the fact that there’s nothing to worry about, whether I like to think about sexual violence or not.

In the case of B, it’s harder to say. I don’t tend to consent to these kind of thoughts as they play out in my dreams. I tend not to fantasise about sexual cruelty, it flings itself at me now and then when I sleep. Since those scenarios are not OK and not hot, I worry a little. But it’s just the subconscious cocking me about in the end.

3. Tell us your hottest filthiest fantasy, right now, in 100 words or less. 
This is the fantasy about your desires that you probably never share, maybe they even go against your morals, or are societal taboos.

I don’t have just one “hottest fantasy” and I certainly don’t have any that I probably never share because they’re taboos or what have you. You might have noticed that I’m not big on caring about taboos. I’m also not sure I could have a fantasy that goes against my morals. Sure, some of them might not be moral to do, but there’s nothing it’s immoral to think of.

Take your pick from my hot fantasies, though: threesomes, group sex,  forced sex, genderfuck, girl-on-girl, exhibitionism, voyeurism, pegging, being used and abused, all sorts.

4. Which super hero would you like to have sex with? Why?
a. Aquaman
b. Superman
c. Wonder Woman
d. She-Ra

I mean, is there really any other choice? I neither know nor care about Aquaman, Superman is a dull-as-dishwater goody two-shoes made of too much hunk and She-Ra isn’t really my taste. Long blonde hair? Eh. Why, when you can have a skimpily dressed brunette who comes with her own bondage gear.

Wonder Woman is literally made for fetish and whiffs of rampant lesbianism. Perfect.

5. Knowing there’s a hot young couple in the adjoining hotel room, would you press your ear against the wall to hear the action on the other side?

Well, spluh. Free porn! I’m beginning to realise I’m quite the voyeur, actually. Night-time journeys on trains are always accompanied by me staring out of the train fantasising about catching a glimpse of something lewd in a lit-up window. Sadly I’ve never had neighbours I could hear that well. Just a few half-caught groans here or there at best.

6. Do you think the lure to live out sexual fantasies or have sex frequently is amplified by technology? Briefly explain.

Yes. I certainly feel this myself. I have plenty of fantasies I haven’t yet tried and I might well not mind too much that I haven’t done them if it weren’t for the Net. But I go on Twitter or I read blogs and I hear stories of other people fulfilling my fantasies and having super-hot sex and I want that. I get jealous. Even if I’m currently experiencing a great streak of fantastic sex, I get jealous. The Internet exposes me to what I can’t yet have. The word ‘yet’ is important. I’m patient, but determined.

Bonus: Describe your fantasy life in three (3) words.

I want more.

Senses and Scents

♦ Crush’s arse needed a good seeing-to, that’s for sure. But I’m being a tease. Sadly no pegging or even spanking, no, I needed to slather it in emollient. The new summer weather is not so kind to him.

Whilst I could have just pulled down his trousers, slapped it on and sent him off to play, I had other plans too. We had a new pair of toys to try out and I felt like fucking.

It was when his trousers reached his knees and kept going that he knew something was up. Playful, he started a fake struggle, but I easily pulled the trousers from his legs. He’d been topless before, so now he was naked. And so was I. I squirted the cooling emollient onto his bare bottom and began to slowly, sensually rub it in. I massaged his arse and he practically purred his content.

When he was suitably moisturised, I got out the new black satin blindfold and the little black feather brush I’d been sent. I fixed the ribbon blindfold around Crush’s head as snugly as I could, well aware that it was more of a ‘sensual’ blindfold than a functional one and that he could see out by his nose bridge. When he was as sightless as I could make him, I took the feather stick and started to dance it over his skin.

After his back and bum, I rolled him over, paying careful attention to brushing the feathers over his chest, thighs and semi-erect cock. Of course, he liked the cock the best, but soon wanted even stronger sensations. Taking a gorgeous purple bottle of ylang ylang and patchouli massage oil from my drawer, I poured a thin line of the liquid on him from chest to cock.

I straddled his legs and leant forward, pushing my breasts and belly against his skin, smearing the massage oil across us both. Slowly I rubbed my body against his, writhing on top of him and covering us in scented slickness. He loves it when I straddle him and rub my body on his and this was even better. I’m certain the blindfold allowed him a sneak peek of my glistening breasts and my wriggling, but no matter.

I could feel his smooth, hard body and particularly his now-rigid cock as I glided over him, both of us getting tense and frenzied. His hands were on my arse, gripping and scratching as my pussy slid over him. God, I wanted to fuck him right there and then.

But I had to be good. After all, I knew I’d like the feather experience more than he would and I had a job to do.

He made it hard, of course, whispering dirty things at me, but he relented. He sat me up and tied the blindfold around my head. As expected, I had a gap I could peek through. He ran the feathers lightly over my back, being particularly teasing with the base of my spine and the nape of my neck.

It felt surprisingly sexy. I shivered and it felt supremely sensual, making my pussy tingle with the sensation. His sudden hand on my chest pushed me gently but firmly backwards and I lay back into the pillows. Taking my arms one by one, he fixed them to the headboard with our softer cuffs. I was firmly held in place and all-but-blind to him.

He played the feather stick around my breasts and stomach and then over my thighs and pussy. It felt soft, like the light brush of skin on skin. It was fantastic to be held by the cuffs and his body, my sight limited and my sensations focused. I could feel every stroke of the feather and the scent of patchouli caught me.

Crush knelt between my legs and dropped the feather, now using his hands to stroke my body. I felt at the peak of arousal, my nerves singing and finely tuned. He began to rub his erection over the folds of my pussy, massaging the damp flesh and teasing me with hints of entry.

I lifted my legs to allow him better access and he slowly pushed his way inside me. He felt glorious. He moved agonisingly, slow stroke upon slow stroke. I was stupidly aroused and he felt indescribable, the slow movements a change from our usual rough fucking.

Within moments I felt on the edge of orgasm, but the feeling was unusual. He kept his movements slow and changed the angle often, so that I wasn’t pushed over the edge but stayed balanced, feeling the rapture of the start of an orgasm but never quite peaking. if it sounds torturous, it wasn’t. This wasn’t like the frustrating of being close to coming but not quite able to get there, this was being there but being there indefinitely, the quick explosion of orgasm drawn out over the longest time.

I could have done it all night.

But I didn’t. Sooner or later, I suppose Crush would have to have his fun, after all. As I rolled and writhed, drowning in senses and scents, secure in my cuffs, I felt the tell-tale signs of his orgasm. He told me later it was “kind of suppressed”, but still felt great. He continued to move inside me afterwards until my heightened sensation faded and then pulled out.

I was keen for more, though, and he was keen to give it to me. He wanted to hear more moans from me and so I suggested he take the Salsa bullet from the desk and use it on me. He did so, starting on the cha-cha-cha mode which recently helped inspire an erotic story submission and then switching to a steady buzz.

He swirled the tip of the vibrator around my clitoris in circles, taking direction now and again for slower or more pressure or faster. The build was slow, but steady and I relished the fact that my hands were tied for once. I get picky about my clitoris and I like to take over, but now I couldn’t, I was forced to relax and wait for my orgasm to be given to me. With one hand, Crush pinned my legs.

The build began to reach its peak and I pulled hard at my restraints, needing to spread out the tension in my body. I came and howled loudly, not caring for our open windows, thrashing on my cuffs and my held-down legs like a martyr on the rack.

When we were done with play time, Crush lay next to me, holding me as I lay still cuffed and blindfolded. Slowly the cuffs were removed, then my full sight was returned to me and finally I took Crush in my arms with a kiss.

Today I go about my work and my banal day, but the breeze plays on me like a feather and I still catch the scent of ylang ylang and patchouli on my skin and drift into memories of the sensory overload that was my evening. ♦

Mischief Managed

♦ I have a habit of falling over. Not real falling over, in this case. I’m not a graceful girl, but I can keep my footing.

No, this is something else. I get in a playful mood, especially on weekends when the day is lazy and young. A playful mood that likes hugs and kisses and all sorts more. That’s when Crush will hear the playfully plaintive cry of “Oh, no, I’ve fallen over! Help!” and come in to find me strewn across the bed.

This weekend I was even more trouble than usual and in want of a good spanking. Our daily efforts fell apart a little while back and it had been too long. So I called for him, my body bent forward over our bunched up duvet and my bum wiggling in the air.

I kept my head facing down and away, another quirk I love for some unknown reason. I heard Crush enter, but he wasn’t going for me. Not yet. I heard him rattling at the kinkier of our two drawers, which put my mind on instant alert. I felt a thrill run through me at him taking this so seriously. But I’d accidentally blocked the drawer up so he couldn’t get in. I was almost as angry with myself as he pretended to be. I wanted to be hit with things.

I reminded him that our flogger still hung on the door handle, but he dismissed it straight away. Too soft, he said. He wanted something hard to use on me. I needed to be punished.

He climbed behind me and pulled down the tiny shorts I was wearing. It was the first warm afternoon since I’d bought my roller derby shorts and I’d been determined to flaunt them. My arse was now bared, no knickers to be seen, my shorts around my thighs. He began to spank me hard and harsh, putting his arm into each blow.

I snuggled my face into the pillows and luxuriated in the roughness. It really had been too long. I was still feeling too antsy just to lie there and take it, though. I wiggled and wriggled and occasionally tried to throw him off or escape altogether. Of course, he was as determined as I was cheeky, so all it did was make him pile his weight firmly on top of me and fix me still. And hit me harder. It was occasionally too rough, but only too rough just enough. Soon I was moaning my satisfaction into the bed and thrusting myself back and forth into his strikes.

I wanted more, I wanted as hard as he could give, but it was over too quickly. When it was, though, he pulled me over and leaned menacingly into my face.

“Tell me you’re my dirty little slut,” he hissed.

My cunt pulsed and my eyes widened. I fucking loved it. I smiled happily back at him as I replied. “I’m your dirty little slut.”

We kissed and stroked each other before he pulled me on top of him and lay back,  running his hands over my still-bare bum. I peppered his mouth with kisses. Even so, he hadn’t quite dominated the mischief out of me. I snuck in a little nip at his lip and he turned stern.

“Don’t think you’re in charge just because I let you be on top.” He warned and I smiled as innocently as I could manage.

It was all a lie, though. I wanted trouble. More than that, I wanted retribution. I wanted him to destroy the impudent little slut I was making of myself. I wanted a reaction. When I went to bite his lip a second time, I got one.

Quicker than I could process, his hand had clutched at my throat and he’d started to propel me backwards at speed. He was strong, oh, I’d forgotten how strong when he wants to be, and I was on my back at his mercy. I wasn’t sure there was any mercy. The whole thing was forceful and fantastic. A hand on my throat was already a weakness of mine, but being pushed about like a ragdoll was more than I could dream of.

Still with my neck in his grasp, his free hand pulled off my short shorts entirely. When they were discarded, he whipped up my tshirt to expose my breasts and then pulled it over my face, letting go so that it covered my head. I’d seen football players do similar to celebrate a goal, but this had none of the roaring stupidity and was all shame and sex and submission. I could still see slightly through the thin fabric, but my head was tilted upwards and away from Crush and any movement would dislodge the tshirt, making me effectively bound like this. I liked not being able to see what he was doing. I wanted to be his thing.

He pulled my legs up and pushed himself inside me roughly, making me gasp in pleasure. He took my hands and placed them atop my breasts, using them to lean on, pushing his weight down on me and making me squeeze and massage myself as he pounded me. I was his toy, his slut and he was showing me what he could do, showing me punishment, using me for his pleasure. He was in control and I was his to fuck and abuse, his to thrust his cock into, to spill his seed into, to force to come.

I felt filled with a strange sort of energy and my body tingled with feeling as my mind reeled in submission. When we came together, it was only the icing on the cake. ♦

 

Niagara Fallen

♦ I have a strap-on harness. Two, in fact, though I think one may end up going back to the shop soon as it’s just not as good as the other. Well, technically, three, but one is Vac-u-locked to a phthalatastic Doc Johnson ‘dong’ that I am never going near again. It’s basically waiting on death row for a suitable demise. Fire’d be nice.

Anyway, I have a strap-on harness, or a few, and a goodly number of dildos. Long and fairly thin (like the one below, which is the Tantus Niagara), small and veiny, gorgeous and realistic, neon and slim, curved and chic, flexible and artsy. Heck, with the latest review item I’ve been sent, I even have a fantastic take on the stereotypical massive black one. And all of those have just the right base for putting in a harness.

Crush isn’t into anal or harness stuff, though, so why bother? Well, several reasons actually. Firstly, I originally bought the evil rubber one to experiment with my thoughts around gender. As you may know, I’m into androgyny. I’d love to have a cock of my own to play with and I can even make myself orgasm, in the right mindset, by stroking a cock or strap-on and pretending that I do. A strap-on harness allows me the fun and exploration of make-believe. Plus, it’s great for boinging around and doing the helicopter dick. :P

And besides which, I’m on the lookout for a nice girl to hopefully play with. And oh, how I’d dearly love to fuck a girl with my cock. A real cock would be better, but science continues to fail me, but this would certainly do. I find myself often shifting to a more masculine me around girls, actually. So hopefully if the opportunity arises, my harness will be good for that too.

Until then, I’ll have to stick to strapping one on and hanging out with my wang out. Like so… ♦