The Heart Wants What It Wants

I met up with a former student for lunch a couple weekends ago because she was in the middle of a relationship crisis and wanted to talk about it with someone who wouldn’t judge her.  She’s been with her current boyfriend for two years and is very much in love with him, but she cheated on him with a guy at summer camp this summer (which I found hilarious, because I did exactly the same thing at exactly the same age and remember how gutting it was to try to navigate the situation).  She says she’s still talking to the new guy all the time – that he arouses a kind of passion in her that her boyfriend doesn’t because they have shared goals and interests and she feels comfortable completely being herself around him.  Welcome to NRE, I say.  I tell her to try not to compare them, which she says is impossible.

I ask if she still wants to be with the boyfriend.  Yes, absolutely, she says.  He’s kind, giving, dependable.  He’s a Good Man.  I ask her if consensual non-monogamy is a potential choice for her.  No, she says – she’s monogamous (…).  I tell her, then, that she should probably cut off contact with the new guy.  She says she doesn’t want to do that – he’s intoxicating (quite literally).  And then she says this hilarious thing that I think all of us have thought but few of us actually say out loud:

“Jo,” she says.  “The thing is – like, do I really have to do the right thing?  What if I’m just okay with not being a good person?  Is being a good person really all it’s cracked up to be?  I’m not sure it is.”

Oh, sister.  We’ve all been there.  The NRE has blinded her to the fact that she’s already broken her boyfriend’s heart – he just doesn’t know it yet.  We talk for a long time and go through every possible permutation of potential action that can be taken, and I finally tell her that it doesn’t matter what I say – she’s going to do what in the end feels right for her, even if she knows it isn’t.  The heart wants what it wants.  When I was her age, I wouldn’t have listened to anyone’s advice – I would follow my cunt, because that’s where my heart lives.  I told her to be careful with the hearts of people she cares about and sent her a link to *just* in case.  On my way home, I thought: You couldn’t pay me to be that young again.

Bedtime Stories (NSFR)

Wait, I say to him before we get off the phone.  I want him to read me a bedtime story.  He stoically tells me that it’s 10:00 am.  Not where I am, I remind him.  I tell him I’ll be restless without it.  That I won’t be able to sleep.  That I’ll be tossing and turning all night long when I could be dreaming of him.  He grudgingly gives in, searching for a good piece of erotica on his computer while I turn off the lights, climb my stairs, and slink into bed, the bright light of my phone pressed to my ear.

How about a gangbang story? he asks.  I smile; that’s exactly what I would have chosen.  As he starts to read, his voice deep and reassuring in my ear, I close my eyes and imagine the scene unfolding before me, vivid images floating behind the dark half-moons of my eyelids.  Hands and mouths everywhere, greedy, grasping, searching.  Every glorious orifice being used to its full potential, undulations of bodies and pleasure.  My right hand slides into my pajama bottoms, underneath my cotton panties as he continues to read; I find my labia already slick and slippery.

I’m not prepared for how fast I come.  Before I can take any clothes off, before I can pull a breast out to graze one of my nipples with a wet finger, without tensing into it like normal, I suddenly come hard at the thought of several strangers using me, not ever knowing who they are, a dozen hands groping me at once.  Fingers in my mouth, a fist around my hair, nails dug into my haunches, gripping me backward.  I cry out, my body convulsing, and continue to moan; he stops reading.

“I wasn’t done,” he says.  I am.  I tell him to keep reading to me.  I lay still in bed, my panties and thighs soaked, breathing deeply and evenly as I imagine him next to me, whispering the story into my ear in the dark.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Still Wet


I could still see her juices glistening on my dildo after she said stop, she couldn’t handle any more pleasure.  She was covered in sweat, her hair a mess, and stunning.  Long after I washed my hands I could still smell her on my fingers, still feel her sizzling on my tongue.  It was a good Saturday night.

Sinful Sunday

Good Sport

“Promise you’ll be a good sport?” asked Gem as she held her boy’s chin in her slender hand and looked down at his radiant eyes.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered evenly, not moving a muscle.
“You know the rules,” she continued.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied.

She slid her hand around to the back of his head, feeling his bristly hair barely making it past her fingers and leaned down to whisper in his ear: “Don’t give up too easily.  Have fun, and be a good boy.  And remember: this is not for you.  This is for me.  Your pleasure is my pleasure.  I’m so looking forward to seeing my friends enjoy you the way I do.”

She stood up, and he followed.  She turned to face three of her friends who had been watching the conversation. “Well, ladies,” she said, smiling a Cheshire cat smile and clasping her hands together, “I believe you know the rules, too!  Be kind to my boy and have fun yourselves!  I’ll be watching from up here.”  Her friends broke into their own nervous but eager grins, slung their backpacks over their shoulders, and nodded in assent. She turned back around to face Boy and told him he had a five minute head start.

“Go,” she said.

He started walking out of the room briskly, breaking into a run as he approached the stairs.  They all watched his graceful body sprint onto the lawn from a floor to ceiling bedroom window upstairs.  Soon, he had disappeared into the hedge maze below.  Gem looked at her friends, their smiles belying their anticipation.  He was beautiful and so eager to please.  A few minutes later, they wandered down into the entrance of the maze together, separating shortly thereafter to take different paths.

Susan was the first one to spot him.  He was walking slowly along the ledge, creeping silently.  Like a cat, she tiptoed up behind him and lightly tagged him on the shoulder.  “Looks like I’m first!” she exclaimed with delight.  “What would your trophy be, then?” Boy asked.  “I was thinking about how satisfying the silk of your shirt would feel against my skin –” she said, “but instead I think I’ll have your trousers.  I want to be the first to see the outline of your lovely cock.”

Dutifully, he removed his shoes, then unbuttoned and slipped off his trousers before handing them over.  “Thank you,” he said.  “May I continue?”  “Of course,” she replied, looking him up and down.  He walked off quickly and slipped around the corner while Susan waited patiently.

He’d been carefully avoiding cul-de-sacs the entire time, but now he found himself trapped in one.  No matter – he stopped and could hear nothing but his own shallow breaths.  He was alone, he was sure.  Coming out of the dead end, he felt a hand stop him before he saw the artfully manicured nails on his chest.  Lilia.

“So,” she purred, looking down at his boxer briefs.  “I see someone else got to you first.”  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.  “What trophy will you have?”  “I’ll take your shirt, darlin’,” she said with joy.  He started unbuttoning; she stopped him.  “No – let me,” she said, continuing to unbutton his soft shirt languidly.  “You have nice shoulders,” she said, running her hands over them briefly.  “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, his heart racing, now down to his undershirt, briefs, and running shoes.  “May I continue?”  “Sure thing, love,” she said, and swatted his bottom as he made his way down the lane.  Upstairs, Gem laughed as she watched him scurry away.  She could see what he couldn’t: that being so distracted by Lilia’s comments, he wasn’t watching where he was going, and that’s when he ran smack into Susan once again.

“Oh-ho,” she said, “I’ve found you once again!  I’ll have that undershirt if you don’t mind – I think it will look quite nice on me, especially paired with your pants.”  He blushed and removed it, one hand on the chest and one on the back.  He handed it to her, avoiding eye contact.  “Looks like it’s almost time,” she said.  “Be more careful – you don’t have much left.”  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and he was off.

A solid five minutes had passed; he was hidden in the middle of a hedge, completely convinced that he was invisible from passersby… until he heard a voice whisper into his ear, “Think you’re clever, do you?” as a hand reached in and grazed his hard, smooth stomach.  A warm hand attached to a reassuring voice.  A voice like bells.  Yuna.  She drew him out of the hedge.  “I believe I’m now the proud owner of one pair of black boxer briefs,” she said, smiling at Boy.  He started to slide them down. “Wait,” she said.

She opened her backpack, took out a double duvet, flung it upward with two hands so that it opened onto the ground, and sat down on it, looking at him expectantly.  “Now,” she said.

He once again took off his shoes and slid the briefs over his growing cock and down to his ankles, carefully removing them one leg at a time before handing them to Yuna, who patted the duvet next to her.

“Your turn to watch,” she said.  He sat in the middle of duvet and looked at Yuna as she stood up, his eyes briefly darting to the window above to see if he could catch a glimpse of his Mistress.  He couldn’t, but he could feel her eyes on him.  He could always feel her eyes on him.  Yuna was wearing a simple flowered summer dress, tied in the back; she pinched the strings of the tie between her thumb and forefinger and pulled, her dress falling to her waist, exposing her pert breasts.

She looked down at Boy.  “I want you to take my panties off for me – with your mouth,” she said.  He got up to balance on his knees and lifted her skirt up, and nuzzled his face against the lace of her crotch.  Her breath was barely audible, but deep.  He grabbed the top of her panties with his teeth, sliding them down a few inches, before darting his tongue over her clitoral hood, holding it there momentarily, and drawing it back.  He gripped her panties once again and slid them down to her ankles.

She stepped out of them and eyed him hungrily.  “On your back, please,” she said, getting a condom and cock ring out of her backpack.  He obeyed; she slid the condom down onto his now rigid cock and stretched out the disposable cock ring to place it around the base of his scrotum and the top of his dick before turning both switches on, making everything vibrate.  She blew a small silver whistle she was wearing around her neck before taking it off and flinging it to the ground.  Still wearing her dress, she hitched the skirt up and kneeled above Boy before slowly lowering herself onto his cock, then gently rocking back and forth.  He moaned, imagining his Mistress touching herself, watching from above.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” Yuna said in staccato, finding it difficult to talk and fuck at the same time.  “The others are on their way.”

Gem, now soaking and wearing only a tank top, looked down to see Yuna straddling Boy while Lilia and Susan approached quickly from either side of the maze.  She mounted a dildo in the window seat and stared, enthralled, her hands pressed to the rapidly steaming glass, thinking: AirBnBs couldn’t possibly get better than this.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked


I’m doing the round up this week (yea yea yea!!!), so I thought I’d showcase a handful of photos from earlier shoots that I didn’t include in the original posts.  Enjoy, and I’m stoked to look through everyone’s photos this week!  x






Sinful Sunday

Work in Progress

Hello, you lovely perverts!

I’ve just moved my content over from Blogger and am working out the kinks (ahem). Please forgive the weird formatting on old posts; I’m working on it and rather frustrated (why is some font larger than other font?!  Why can’t I get spaces between my paragraphs?!?!?) as someone who knows zero things about technology.   Thanks!



Cu T

Late last summer, I made an attempt to get an IUD placed as I’d recently stopped using condoms with The Texan; things didn’t work out so well.  I wanted a copper one, but the office I went to didn’t have any, so I opted for the Mirena instead – but when my gynecologist tried to place the IUD, my cervix was so narrow that she couldn’t get the tube in.  She said I had two choices: come back again when it was a better time in my cycle and my cervix was more open and malleable, or sit around and get my cervix dilated.  I hightailed it out of there and said I’d come back later.


During that appointment, she said I should go off the pill; I never asked why.  Instead, I kept taking them until The Texan left in December, after which I finally went off after twenty years of hormonal birth control… and I waited.  I wanted to get my IUD in during a period when I knew I wouldn’t be having sex (the highest risk of infection comes in the three weeks after placement), so I waited until one partner was gone for the summer and another one was leaving Korea AND timed it so I was both off work that day and in a place in my cycle that would be conducive to a slightly more open cervix.  Sheesh.

Women who have IUDs have lots of feelings about them; some love them and some hate them.  I did as much research as I could[1]; determined not to go back on hormonal birth control, I found a hospital that had a small copper one and set a date.  It was my first time seeing a male gynecologist; I thought that would make me nervous, but it didn’t.  What did make me nervous is when he showed me a uterine sound and told me he was going to insert it to check the depth of my uterus.  And after that hurt like a son of a bitch, he then told me that he was going to need to dilate my cervix a little with bigger sounds to get the insertion tube in.  Eek!  I consider myself a strong person, but that didn’t stop me from crying a bit and saying “OwowowowOWOWOWowowow” over and over.  It made me feel completely in awe of any woman who has actually pushed a human baby out through her cervix.  He told me to relax.  Ha!  “I’m going to put this metal stick into you – so you know, just relax.”  That being said – it worked this time!  Hurrah!

 Image result for uterine sound
“It can’t hurt that much, lady.”

Day one was pretty awful, not gonna lie – lots of bleeding and cramps.  Days two and three involved lots of bleeding and almost no cramps; days four and five were reversed (the worst cramps I’ve ever had, but very little bleeding).  So… we’ll see.  Is it worth it as a backup method?  I’m still using condoms with my partners as I have more than one, but I really don’t want babies.  I like having a just-in-case birth control method.  And who knows?  In a year or two I may end up with a partner with whom I decide to bond fluids.


Oh, and that whole gynecologist wanting me to go off birth control pills thing?  I asked this doctor about it and he said, “Yeah, you shouldn’t be taking the pill for more than two years at a time.”  WHAT.  Thanks for telling me that, no gynecologist I’ve ever had.  He then said gravely, “You should probably get a mammogram – extended pill use is linked to breast cancer.”  “But I’m only thirty-five,” I said.  “Do it before you leave Korea,” he retorted.  (Korea has amazing health care – the kind where you can just walk into any office any time without an appointment and it’s cheap AF.  My copper IUD was only $100; in the US it could easily be $500.)  So it looks like I’ll be getting a mammogram this year… at thirty-six. 

On a complete tangent, I found this amazing website where someone documented his partner’s cervix through actual pictures the first month after she got her IUD in; it’s completely fascinating!!!  It made me feel better knowing that other people have experienced the same things I’m experiencing (and likely will be for the next month or two… ugh).  I’ll make a full report on my first post-IUD penetrative sex later and I promise it will be much hotter than talking about mammograms and sounding.  

[1] A note on the articles I read while researching: IUD placement seems to be quite different in the US than here. I got no Misoprostol, no numbing agent, no prior STI tests or pregnancy test… pretty sure my gynecologist didn’t even wear gloves.  


I live in a loft apartment, making the shoot from below prompt a snap; I shot more saucy photos, but I like the suggestion behind this one.

I also have some glorious photos I wanted to share taken underneath love motel ceiling mirrors, but they feature partners whose privacy I respect.  Perhaps that warrants a trip to a love motel solely for the purpose of taking pictures under a mirrored ceiling…

To look up more sexy photos:

Sinful Sunday


Photo from

For the third day in a row now, Mari could feel eyes caressing her back as she unlocked the door to her office at Ambrosia.  She’d only started there a week before; she assumed it would be like her previous HR jobs, but it was so much better.  She remembered being a child and smelling the chocolate factory from her school bus as it rumbled through freeway traffic every morning; now she inhaled deeply, turning the key in the lock, and paused for a minute to feel it course through her before briefly turning back to see if she would catch someone looking at her through the glass that separated office workers from the factory floor.  All the machine operators and assemblers, however, had their eyes down or forward, making sure everything continued to move smoothly along conveyor belts and into boxes.

By lunchtime, she was starving.  Walking past the other offices on her way to the parking lot, she looked over the factory floor to her right and noticed a woman she hadn’t seen before writing on a clipboard nailed to a post.  The woman was tall and muscular – or at least she looked so in her white coat – and suddenly she looked Mari directly in the eye and smiled, tilting her head a bit.  It was a genuine smile, full of curiosity; Mari could make out bundles of black hair under the woman’s hair net.  She wondered briefly what it would be like to take the hair net off and run her fingers through the woman’s silky hair; the invasive thought caught her off guard, and she tripped over a snag in the hallway carpet.  Collecting her purse and shaken, she looked again for the mysterious woman, who had turned around and started moving a machine behind her.  Mari blushed and hurried on her way, holding her purse tight and her breath tighter, her heels soundless on the carpet.

She lay in bed later that night, thinking again of the amazon.  Imagining her strong arms (god she looked so strong) picking her up so that Mari’s thighs gripped her obliques and placing her on the small desk in her office, deftly working one hand up Mari’s thigh and snaking her fingers under Mari’s panties and into her wet cunt, the other hand pulling one of Mari’s small breasts out of her camisole so she could slip the taut nipple into her mouth, her long black hair falling in waves over Mari’s face.  Her hair that smelled like chocolate.  Her breath that smelled like chocolate twirling up through Mari’s nostrils as she leaned in to kiss Mari with full lips, making her moan from her diaphragm.  She rubbed her clit in circles, coming in undulations as she felt the woman’s tongue and fingers and body weight.

She came in early the next morning, wearing a red blouse and a bit of blush, which she never wore to work.  Shortly after arriving, there was a knock on her door; “Come in,” she said, staring at the green and black computer screen in front of her.  “I hope I’m not bothering you,” a husky voice said from the door frame.  She didn’t need to look up to know.  Her heart felt like the Kool-Aid man bursting through a wall; she swallowed and lifted her eyes.  “I wanted to introduce myself,” said the woman, confident and direct.  “I’m the forewoman on the floor; I thought it would help to know someone’s name in case you needed to talk to anyone here about paperwork or other unresolved issues.”  She strode in, took the latex glove off her right hand, and extended it to Mari, sliding it perfectly into Mari’s small hand, her skin smooth.  Her skin that smelled like chocolate.  She held Mari’s hand in hers for longer than necessary, her eyes searching for Mari’s and her hand making promises.  “I’m Tanya,” she said with her beautiful lips, Mari barely hearing the words, seeing in her mind her own hands on Tanya’s face and Tanya’s lips on the nape of her neck.  She felt warm and full as she made it through the words “It’s nice to meet you, Tanya – I’m Mari.”  Words like peanut butter in her mouth.

“Let me know if you have any questions,” said Tanya, again with her engaging smile.  “You know where to find me, I believe.”  She strode out, but not before turning to say, “And by the way – you look great today.”  Cocoons opened throughout Mari’s body as she held her balance against the swivel chair behind her.  Yes.  This was so much better. 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked


As an aside, the Ambrosia chocolate factory is a real place; Jeffrey Dahmer worked there while he was mid-killing spree.  He lived eight blocks away from my elementary school while I was a student there – I remember his trial well because it was the biggest local news story for months.