New Year’s Eve

After dessert – a decadent raspberry custard topped with chocolate ganache and served with port – Cal handed over a small, meticulously-wrapped box, which he seemed to pull out of thin air.  Maybe it was the intoxicating effects of the port, the strength of which still lingered on hir tongue.  Les accepted it with both hands, wondering where Cal had found the paper containing real leaves and the ribbon which felt like velvet.  Sie looked at it carefully, turning it over in hir small hands, marveling at the care that had gone into it.  Cal’s eyes twinkled.  “Open it,” he eagerly instructed.

Sie peeled the tape off, careful not to rip the paper, and took off the lid, lifting layers of multi-colored tissue paper away from the interior to reveal a handful of small, plain, white envelopes containing what felt like cards.  Each one of the twelve had a single word printed on the cover: the first said January.  “What are these?” sie asked, delighted at the attention to detail, the smooth surface and crisp corners of the envelopes.

“Each month, you get one card with an instruction on it.  You have one month to carry out the order; if you succeed, you receive a reward.  If not, a punishment.  That simple.”  Les’s eyes widened and the corners of hir mouth drew up slowly as sie started to think about all the possibilities.  Knowing Cal, there would be nothing simple about this – it would be challenging, but exhilarating.

“Put them away for now,” he said, standing up and walking around to help Les with hir coat.  Hir face formed a momentary frown, at which he laughed.  “My darling,” he said, “January first is but an hour away, and the clock is ticking.  I believe we have an engagement to be at.  You owe me a dance and a midnight kiss.”  Sie smiled and slipped hir arm into the sleeves before putting one through Cal’s arm.  They strolled out into the cold air, still glowing from each other’s company, and held tight to each other as they walked to a friend’s party.

They danced to song after song, alternating the lead to songs that would always remind hir of New York – Gershwin, Porter, Berlin.  At midnight, showered in vibrant confetti, they kissed each other, relishing the pressure and taste of each other’s lips.  Sie trailed hir lips to his ear, and whispered, “I can’t wait.  Can I open the first one now?”  “You’re so impatient!” he chided playfully.  “But yes, of course you can.”

Sie ran over to their coats in staccato steps, digging the box out of hir deep coat pocket, and gingerly took out the first envelope.  Sie slid a finger underneath the flap and pulled out a small white card containing the following sentences:

Put the Njoy plug in first thing when you wake up in the morning.  Keep it there all day and come to my office five minutes before I get off work.  I will leave my office each day at 4:53 exactly.  When I arrive back to my office at 4:55 one day in January, you will be there, hands on my desk, wearing nothing from the waist down except that plug, waiting for me.

Les’s heart stopped at the idea of being semi-nude in Cal’s office.  Sie knew his coworkers; they often had happy hour cocktails together.  What if someone else came in?  What if the timing was off?  What if…?  Cal looked closely at her expression, wondering momentarily if he’d made a mistake – but then he saw the fear in hir eyes replaced with lust, and an unmistakable blush spread across hir face.  What if he spanks me? Sie thought.  What if he replaces that plug with his fingers?  Sie quickly thought about the heft of the metal plug and how it would feel inside of hir for an entire day.  What if he demands I get under the desk and lick his cock from base to tip, over and over, until he’s shivering?  Sie closed her eyes dreamily and thought about the potential.  Cal leaned in and brushed his lips against hirs.  “This is just the beginning,” he said, almost inaudible against the chorus of Auld Lang Syne.  “I started with an easy one.”  He slid his hand around hir waist and up hir back in a reassuring way; they spent the next few minutes in silence, both contemplating their adventures ahead and feeling no need to make resolutions.

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

Happy Endings (NSFR)

I

We’re the first ones to arrive at the club; it’s wide open, with tons of couches and tables scattered across a huge, darkly lit room.  There’s a costume closet with a bunch of dresses and shirts and a few toys in it – one small flogger, a long leather paddle, a dildo.  We settle into a “room” adjoining the main area; I’m using quotation marks here because instead of walls, there are just metal bars separating these spaces.  Nowhere to hide.  I was putting off coming here for months because I felt a little shy, but now that I’m here, it feels comfortable.  A little dungeon-y.

Shortly after we open our bottle of Jack and pour ourselves small cocktails (swinger’s clubs in Korea require the purchase of bottle service for entry), we look around more.  I see a large swinging hook hanging from the ceiling; I grab the rope I brought with me and tie myself up to it, asking my playmates to grab that paddle and hit me with it; they gladly oblige.  Soon another couple comes up and asks if they can spank me, too; yes, I say, delighted!  Actually, one of them started fondling me without asking first – a common occurrence at this place.  I had to tell two people (in a language I’m not fluent in) that night to ask before touching.

We’re the first ones to have sex that night; I’m riding him and she’s sitting on his face and she and I are making out, and suddenly I look over to see that everyone in the room is intently staring at us.  It doesn’t bother me because I’m in the sex haze where nothing else matters but my orgasms.  Enjoy, I think, just don’t interrupt me while I’m coming.

II

A beautiful young woman comes over to play at some point while I’m being fucked from behind with a strap-on by the woman I came with (her first time using one!); the owner had whispered to us when we first saw her that she was a lesbian and wanted to play with women.  Whispered it because same-sex play is relatively uncommon in Korean clubs.

She looks like a real doll.  Like a straight man’s fantasy.  Perfect skin, fake breasts on a tiny frame, false eyelashes, long hair.  She’d come with a much older man but wasn’t really playing with him; he followed her everywhere she went, but I didn’t see him interacting with another person until the end of the night, when most people were drunk.

I was already on my hands and knees; she asked my friend if she could play, which got relayed to me; I answered with a resounding yes.  She kneeled behind me and started licking me.  At some point she started rimming me; afraid she would start licking my vulva again afterward, I stopped her (I’d already had to explain to the friend I came with that you can’t do that; she had no idea!) and asked her to lie on her back.  I started sliding my hand up and down her labia, smiling at her, before sliding a finger inside and asking her which spot she preferred I concentrate on.  I eventually worked up to three fingers, pushing into her G-spot with a steady rhythm; I suddenly felt a rush of liquid gushing into my hand.  I looked more closely and saw that the tissues around her urethra were so engorged that it looked like the head of a penis!  I stopped momentarily, a bit shocked, and everyone around me shouted, “No, keep going!”  Soon there was a flood pouring out of her and onto the floor around her, jets of ejaculate flying onto my dress. It. Was. Amazing.  It was my first time seeing a woman ejaculate, and it truly felt like a miracle!  I high fived her as my friends went to grab a sheet to mop everything up.  “Kiss me,” she said in a small voice, and not being one to deny someone so lovely, I leaned in and brushed my lips on hers.  They felt like petals.

III

I start fucking this guy, straddling him, and I keep trying to take his shirt off; he keeps pushing it down.  When I take my dress off to reveal a completely nude Jo, I hear an audible gasp from several people in the room.  I look around, and everyone – even mid-orgy – is wearing a shirt of some kind.  Mostly button-down men’s shirts.  Doesn’t quite seem the place to be modest, I think, but I come from a completely different culture.  What do I know?

IV

Because one of the friends I came with is a marine and there’s a military curfew, we have to stay out ‘til 5:00 AM.  Around 3:30, I feel totally exhausted and just want to go – until a Danish woman and French man come over and sit with us.  They’re coworkers.  Not sure how the lifestyle came up in work conversation!  I tie her up and we take turns spanking her; I take her down and she hops onto her coworker.  It’s so hot it makes my jaw drop – he’s holding her up, his back against a wall, bouncing her on his dick.  I teach the marine how to tie a dragonfly harness; he ties me up, grabs a spreader bar upon my request, and locks my ankles into it.  The Europeans are taking a break, so I look over at the French guy and ask politely if he’ll bend me over and fuck me while I suck the marine’s cock; he gladly does.  It’s hard to get into a rhythm, but I’m having the time of my life being pushed back and forth by two dicks, precariously balanced.  While this is happening, the woman I came with starts spanking me, and the Danish woman whispers in my ear, “You’re such a good English teacher!  You take his cock so well!”  I come in waves, pleasure undulating through my body, satiated with the rapture of having a long-standing desire fulfilled.

I just think: Thank gods for the military curfew.  We eventually clean up and leave at 5:00 to get pho across the street, drained and content and maybe a little sore, looking forward to a long morning of deep sleep.

Eye-Opener

With the exception of some spanking, light bondage, and role playing in my university (er… high school) relationships, my first introduction to BDSM was Mistress Natasha.  She was the real deal.  I went to a swinger’s club a few times when I lived in New Orleans – more out of curiosity than a desire to engage.  When I heard from a go-go girl there that a professional dominatrix came in mid-week to do fifteen-minute sessions with members, my eyes grew as big as saucers.  I. Couldn’t. Wait.

She was tall – at least a good six inches taller than me.  Then again, it could have been the boots.  She had long, swinging hair and wore all black – and she was stunning.  She moved gracefully and spoke slowly and deliberately, her eyes feline and surrounded by liquid coal.

I asked her if she would do a session with me; yes, she said, as long as I didn’t mind spectators.  I gave my consent; she took me into a dark room the size of a walk-in closet that had a St. Anthony’s cross against the back wall.  She instructed me to take my clothes off, fold them, and put them in a neat pile in the corner. Watch, too, she said – leaving a watch on is just tacky.  That stuck in my memory for years and was something I would go on to tell my own clients.  My heels, she said, could stay on.

She told me to press myself face-forward against the cross, to which she bound me with leather restraints.  The cross felt cool and reassuring against my skin.  I was too giddy to be nervous – feeling her soft but sure hands against my wrists and ankles filled me with exhilaration and anticipation.  I remember the first time the big, thuddy flogger hit my back; it felt glorious.  It felt like waking up.

She flogged me and ran her hands over my back and bottom, soothing my pink skin.  She scratched me and whispered dirty words in my ears.  She had my rapt attention even though I felt like I was dreaming, and when she took me down from the cross and told me to get on my hands and knees, I was gutted to be almost finished and also relished being told what to do by a woman so confident in knowing what she wanted.  She poured hot wax on me, which rolled down my back and pooled just above my ass, before telling me to kiss her boots – which I gladly did.  I thanked her for her time and told her how much I enjoyed the session; I was so completely riled up by it that I grabbed the woman I brought with me and dragged her into a private room to ravage her.

In my relationships, I’m a switch.  I can play either role and feel comfortable in both, but in my heart of hearts – in my fantasies – I’m pure bottom.  Not seriously masochistic and not truly submissive (I’m more likely to say “Fuck off” than “Yes, sir,” if the wrong person tries to tell me what to do), but for sure a bottom.  Mistress Natasha really opened that door for me, and I’m forever grateful.

Switch

I like scenes like this: First, I’m told that (s)he knows I have done something wrong; my behavior necessitates some kind of reprimand.  But (s)he understands – we all make mistakes.  Maybe there’s something I can do to help sweep this situation under the rug.  Mum’s the word.

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I’m smarter than (s)he bargained for, however; I’ve got dirt, too.  After relishing every sting and burn of my supposed punishment, I turn the tables.  I, too, have a strong hand and a desire to play.

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I don’t think we’re quite finished here, I say, and smile.  It’s going to be a while.

Sinful Sunday

Broad Stripes

Alex heard the crop swish through the air before he felt it.  That sound alone was enough to make his cock twitch – or at least it would be, if it weren’t in a cage.  He wanted to say as much, but all he could do was groan with satisfaction as it came down hard on his left cheek.

“I think I’ll give you nice, even stripes today,” Sir said as he walked around the back of Alex’s legs, perched on tip toes to strain his balance against the bench he was bent over.  Alex’s heart pounded at the thought of the long, beautiful red marks coloring his bottom.  Sir hit his right cheek with force.  He tensed briefly, then allowed the endorphins to flow through him like a full-bodied pinot.

Sir hit him again slightly lower than before, then circled around front this time, the bulge of his cock visible through his trousers.  Alex felt him lightly tap the crop against his pale flesh like a golfer practicing her swing before following through.  He wanted to be exact in lining up the stripes; Alex grinned at the thought of his perfectionist tendencies, a droplet of drool slipping around the edge of his ball gag.

Thwack.  Another stripe.  An inch down.  Thwack!  Another.  Alex heard footsteps before once again feeling the light tapping of leather on his skin.  His eyes were now closed, his breathing even, his muscles starting to relax.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Sir said out of the blue, bringing Alex out of his reverie.  Alex kicked up a hairy right leg behind him; Sir removed his gag.

“What happened?” he asked, still in a state of calm content.

“That bruise on your left hip that’s been changing color – it’s purple now.”

“Great!” said Alex.  “But why the surprise?”

“Congratulations,” Sir said. “Your ass is an American flag.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so patriotic before.”  Before Alex could get the loud laugh all the way out of his body that burst forth from his gut, Sir had managed to get the gag back in place and the laugh was held inside, ready to come out later.  For now, there was more work to be done.

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

Blindfolded

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For some, the letter B is a fun sexy letter: breasts, bottom, beads, bubble baths.

For me (for many of us, I’d wager), the letter B conjures up the dark side of sexy: blood, bruises, beatings.  I’m a huge horror fan; I binge-watched Stranger Things last weekend before taking this, so I was feeling kind of raw and scratchy.  In a good way, of course. I wanted to make the image grainy but don’t have that kind of filter in my photo editing software, so instead I just made it dark!

For all the other sinners, click the lips below:

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

Brand-Spanking-New Toy

Not the sexiest picture, perhaps, but the things I’ll do with it are sure sexy!

I bought this for $0.75 in Kalaw, Myanmar, in an open market; it was hanging above a selection of fruits and vegetables.  I have no idea what its intended use is (any thoughts?), but I already got a good whacking with it from a one-night stand (it’s stingy, but pretty low-key).  He delighted in having me hit the soles of his feet with it, which was exciting to me – I LOVE having the soles of my feet hit with any impact toy, and it was nice to meet another person who enjoys the same kink.
I’m also keen to have someone use it as leverage for a hard fuck – to wrap it around my body and pull me against them as hard as they can.  To keep at it until they’re panting and exhausted and sweaty and we collapse in a fuck heap.  I’ll probably have bamboo splinters, but I’ll be so full of orgasmic dopamine that I won’t care!  
Seriously – what is this actually supposed to be used for?
Thanks, Myanmar!  Other travel photos to follow…
P.S.  I ATE RATTAN, and it was delicious!  I’ll be thinking about it every time I come across a cane… or a cane comes across me.
See who else is playing this Sunday…

Sinful Sunday

Double Deprivation (REALLY not safe for relatives)

The Texan and I got home from the bar late at night, both a little bit tipsy, and hastily stripped off our clothes, leaving most of them in a pile near the door.  Making our way to my stairs through the dark while trying to kiss each other, we bumped into counters and furniture, laughing at ourselves while groping each other with fumbling hands.  On the way up the stairs, he whispered, “Get out your blindfolds.”  Yesssssss. 
If only Delta knew…
I have two blindfolds – both meant for long plane trips. One of them has little green and white airplanes on it – not very sexy, but it gets the job done.  The other looks as though it came straight from an adult toy shop, all black and silky, but I actually took it from a plane.  Thanks, Delta! 
I grabbed my blindfolds and a couple of pairs of earplugs (hilariously, one of the pairs is actually meant for keeping water out of your ears while swimming – let’s hear it for DIY BDSM) and brought them into bed.  We put the earplugs in first, looking hungrily at each other, then slipped the blindfolds over our heads.  Suddenly, both of us were plunged into total darkness and muffled sound. 
We felt our way around each other with our hands and mouths at first, just wanting to become familiar with the landscapes of each other’s bodies.  I remember riding him, lacing my fingers through his, and feeling wonder at the synchronicity of our movement and how connected I felt having only touch to guide us.  I remember how warm his body felt as he pressed me against him and tumbled me over so he could fuck me; how he moved my right leg up so it rested against his shoulder.  How right before coming, he told me he was taking off the blindfold so he could see me.  We threw our blindfolds to the side, looking at each other in the darkness, and I felt his cock throbbing inside of me, filling me with hot spurts of cum. 
I remember lying on my back on the bed afterward, feeling not quite finished.  Sweating and aching for more, I asked him to put all of his fingers inside of me. He laughed. “All of them?” he asked.  Yes, I insisted.  “You only get one at a time,” he said.  He slid his index finger into my cunt up toward my engorged g-spot, pressed into it for a moment, swirled his finger around it, and then took it out and told me to open my mouth.  I eagerly took his finger into my mouth, sucking off a mixture of his spunk and my own juices.  “Now two,” he said, sliding his index and middle fingers into me before once again putting them into my mouth.  Three, then four.  He told me that he loves the way I feel; I told him that I love the way he tastes.  He moved his four fingers into me slowly, pushing against an initial tightness to get them all inside.  I groaned with satisfaction, moving my cunt against his hand.  Once inside the tent (as it were), he was free to make a bit of a come hither motion, filling me with waves of pleasure.  I can’t remember if I told him to stop or his hand got tired, but I do remember it feeling damn good.

When we woke in the morning light to see blindfolds and ear plugs tossed haphazardly about, we smiled and kissed each other and snuggled up; I felt very grateful in that moment to have someone both suggestive and open to suggestion in my life.