Monday, December 7, 2009

FetLife Give Away

In the spirit of good clean fun...Sit on Santa's Lap, and talk to your Daddy. Have you been naughty or nice? FetLife's Xmass gifting. (thanks to John Baku & advertisers) #FetLife

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A Busy Night

It was a busy night in the Dungeon...I had just completed a Tantric session with Arjuna. We were in aftercare, and I was fucking him while eating Sage's ripe pussy when I remembered that I had also been invited to hold space for Seelie, while she journeyed into surrender. I said a very rushed yet sincere goodbye, and left the warm nest of Arjuna and Sage to go to Seelie.

Seelie is my friend, my lover's lover, and my sometimes lover. Our relationship is not exactly clear to either of us, but she is special to me. Dear to me. She asked me to be there with her, because she wanted to go very deeply into surrender and wanted to know that I would hold her, and that I would encourage Rascal to take her deeper than he would normally dare to go.

And as I arrived, I found Rascal atop the St Andrew's Cross, flogging Seelie on her back, reddened by the multiple touches with the mooseskin flogger that Rascal favors. I looked at him, "where do you want me?" I mouthed. "Here." He quickly came down from the cross, and placed me in front of Seelie, my back to the cross.

Passers-by gaped. The photographer shot a bunch of stills.

"Seelie, beautiful Seelie. I am here." I took off my top so our breasts were touching. Mine: heavy. Huge dark nipples. Hers: gorgeously assymetrical, nipples that are so firm and so erect that I long to take them into my mouth, and do, while Rascal beats her with his mooseskin flogger. The purple one.

Seelie in her stockings and heels and me barefoot in my leather skirt.

"Make him hurt me" she whispered.

I gave him the hand motion. That one that says bring it on. She needs. She wants. More.

He loves her deeply. I am aware of this, and while it sometimes pains me how very much he loves her, I support him in this love as best I can. His love for her sometimes keeps him from taking her as deeply as she wants to go into the surrender to pain. Ergo the invitation to me. Hold space for me, help him take me where I need to go.

Some know the exquisite surrender, the purging of everything, the presence only of the sensation that some call pain. Those of us who know this intimately know what she wanted. What she needed.

Come on Rascal, bring it on. This is what she requires of you now. Serve this goddess, this Goddess as she shows up for you here. Shows up in willing surrender to your arm, your will, your mooseskin flogger.

And she is crying, but not quite there. ‘More’ I motion. More.

"Seelie," he whispers, " I have a surprise for you."

And out it comes, a cane. Bamboo. Flexible and thin. He lightly taps her. Too light I think, but she reacts instantly, reflexively. Pulls back, jukes.

"Sweet Seelie, Stand there. Take it."

"Don't flinch. Yes. Relax into this sensation."

"Yes, breathe it in. Yes, you can take this."

"Brave grrl. Oh you are so beautiful."

Each time he strikes her, I love her. "Yes yes yes," I coo, "this is for you. How beautiful you are! Oh yes, so beautiful, so lovely. Here just for you."

After 10 or so strikes, he stops to stroke her. He is loving with her. And we whisper into her ears, words of love and acceptance, and appreciation. And she collapses against me, finally empty.

We gently untie her, and lead her to the space we've prepared for her. A soft cushion. A blanket. We spoon her, hold her, kiss her, appreciate her.

"Oh beautiful grrl. Oh Beautiful Seelie."

Water, and eventually a chocolate. She sits up and we gather our things. We lay in their great bed, and as her breathing deepens, as she drifts into sleep, I kiss Rascal, and slip away, go to my own bed. And welcome sleep to join me on my pillow, dreams to crawl in with me under the covers. Drifting into Yes.

Friday, October 23, 2009

This Man Called Angel

“I want you,” he growled it. Demanding. Urgent. Intense.

He fell to his knees and began eating my pussy, through my clothes, even as he was struggling to get them down, off, out of the way.

I hadn’t expected it, after so much loving in the night, and again this morning. It was early afternoon, and I was just starting the coffee. It was the sudden return of his desire, the way he turned to me with such exposed need, as much as the intensity of the sensation of his hungry teeth burrowing into my clit. Again after so many times in the night, I rode the waves of pleasure to the tsunami of cumming

And cum I did, that sudden flooding geyser of cum into his mouth, the metallic odor, the wetness, the liquid heat running down my legs onto my pants, now around my ankles. I pushed my panties there too and held his head fiercely into my pussy as he bit and sucked and swallowed, and his face had droplets of my cum and it was pouring out of his mouth and running down his neck onto his chest and still I came.

And when he had had enough, his face wet and glorious and sanctified, I fell back onto the dining room table, sated.

And he began to lick me, long slow wet tongue muscle pushing proding soothing arousing as he licked me. Exquisite pleasure and rough comfort in his tongue. And again, already primed and running, it poured over the edge, the rise of my juices, the shooting pressure of relief as my hot amrita washed over my swollen labia, my buttocks, the table and onto the floor.

I became hungry for the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. I pulled him toward me and turned onto my left side, and looked into his eyes. In that glance, each of us exposed to the other. Open. Vulnerable. Lost in Want. And then, I plunged his cock into my mouth. And slowly ever so slowly, I began to pull away from him, hard and gleaming with my saliva, with my desire. The taste of his precum in the back of my throat and the full long length of him caressing the inside of my mouth. Slower still, until neither of us was certain that my mouth was moving on him at all, and then even slower. Plunge him in, linger him out. Over and Over. Every molecule of my mouth was on fire with the pleasure of his cock. Over and Over. Slow, slowly, slower still. Dragging in liquid pleasure across all the nerves in my mouth. Over and Over. The nerves for hot and cold, the nerves for salt and sweet and sour, the nerves for smooth and soft and hard and slippery and slimy, and the nerves for pinching and poking and gagging: all vibrating humming in a kind of ecstatic hymn to my pleasure.

And in my ecstasy, I also began to hum and that deep in my throat vibration caused him to moan and grab my head and slam his cock into my mouth, Over and Over, and then at last release into my mouth…my hungry pleasure mouth, my humming mouth, my eager mouth, my open and wanting mouth…And he released his own gift to me. His cum white and thick and sweet and salty and oh so very sweet in my mouth, on my lips over my chest.

His face wet and beatific and glorified. His face angelic.

This Man Called Angel.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The Healing (warning; disturbing content involving child abuse)

The sky above her head was Brilliant. Blinding. Blue. Her eyes in mine brown and golden and green. Seelie Eyes.
The Seelie-Eyed Grrl held my eyes in hers. Rascal behind me in the clear late summer sky, holding my head, my hands, stroking my face, my breasts, murmuring sweet words of encouragement and praise.
And Seelie between my legs. My legs open and afraid and lost in childhood memories, stored deep within the tissues of my legs, my pussy holding onto events from oh so long ago.
For fifty years I have sought, without knowing, a woman to hold me in love. To hold me in this tender place, my vulnerable child crying hysterically.
Rascal stroking me with his voice and his hands and Seelie between my legs. The masculine to hold me, the feminine to love me.

Two fingers. Three fingers. Four fingers. Fist me. Fist me. Fist me.

Blinding intense pain. A Physical Pain. An Emotional Pain unleashed in the memory/ in the rememory that fills the little girl, strapped to the kitchen table. The cold grey formica against her back, the mommy holding the child down with her strong hand, her face contorted in her drunken insanity, in her rage. Shoving objects into the little girl, screaming at the little girl, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? A broom handle. IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT? A rolling pin. TRAMPWHORESLUT! Her hand.

My back is arched so high I can see into his eyes. I see that he is weeping silently, tears running down his face, as Rascal holds my hands and holds the space for this healing. And Seelie's right hand deep inside me, reliving her own traumas with the feminine, sobbing.

And suddenly, I come back to myself, to the now of this scene here on the lawn at Summer Camp, my first fisting in 50 years. I am gasping with the intensity of the pain. Let me breathe you out, I beg, and she does.
Her hand from my vagina, her hand is blood-streaked, and we are both crying. I hold her as she holds me and Rascal holds me and we hold Rascal, and we rock together in the surrender of all women everywhere who have been hurt by another woman. All women who have hurt another woman. All the girl children who have been hurt, and all the boy children who have watched feeling helpless.

As an adult, I have done tremendous amounts of work to understand the memory, to accept and learn from it, to exorcise it. And everything I have learned about myself, about my childhood, about my mother, is suspended in this aftermath of this extreme surrender.

In the aftermath of this extreme surrender, the feminine, the masculine, and the child, together on a blanket in the sun, holding each other...Seelie and Rascal and dangerous in the space of our own and collective healings, from the physical tissues to the emotional vulnerabilities to the space of no-thing, no-judgment, no praise, no condemnation.

Nothing except the feminine, the masculine and the child, sleeping under a brilliant, blue, late summer sky.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Sugasm #174

Veronica Zemanova courtesy of Bad Girl’s Hotbox.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #175? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
5 things I have learned from customers last week at the adult store
“Attractive men typically buy the freakiest toys on the market.”

Doctor’s Visit
“Reach back and spread your cheeks for me”

“Recently it was in a more public venue.”

Sugasm Editor

Editor’s Choice
A Race to the Finish

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Erotic Writing & Experiences
An Afternoon With The Ex
Being a Stranger, Being Fucked rough
Designated Cock
The Display
The Fantasy And The Reality
I Just Want to Watch
Killer Heels - Red Satin Skirt
My G-Spot does exist- HER perspective
Library Offences
Nothing is sacred
Staying After Class
Teachers Pet

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
24/7 BDSM
Danielle Lloyd Topless and All Nude For Nuts - September 2009
Spanking High Impact!
Spanking in the workshop
Strapped on her bare ass!!!
Veronika Zemanova
When The Sunflowers Bloom (HNT)

BDSM & Fetish
Be Careful What You Wish For
In the Dungeon with dangerous: Notes from Dark Odyssey Summer Camp
Knife Play
Lessons Learned (2/2)
The Long Awaited Demo
The M/s Relationship~Fact or Fiction
More Fun with Clothespins
Sub space and sex before bed
Wake Up

Sex Advice
Bareback sex = better sex?
How to Give Your Woman an Orgasm during Intercourse
Trans girl sex: I’m a clumsy asshole

News, Reviews & Interviews
20 Questions With Courtney Trouble
Lelo Gigi
Tres, Dos…nah, Uno

Thoughts on Sex & Relationships
Sex with Dopey
Without any choice in the matter.

Friday, September 25, 2009

In the Dungeon with dangerous: notes from Dark Odyssey Summer Camp

He had been in the dungeon before, but never with dangerous. His first experience subbing for Angel left him hungering for just a little more. He got cold, nakkid in the dungeon, strapped to the St Andrew’s Cross. He was shivering, he explained earnestly, that’s why he cried "red."

Arjuna, this sweet earnest loving magnetic dancer man, has been a friend and colleague of mine in the Sacred Sexuality world for years. We trained together to learn to channel sacred erotic energy, and have been on many retreats together. He has held me when I’ve cried about one lover or another, and I have held him when he has been uncertain, confused.

But a dungeon date with Arjuna was breaking entirely new ground.

Arjuna and I were lying on my bed at Dark Odyssey Summer Camp, aka, sex camp. We were connecting, cuddling, planning his next descent into sub-space. Our long friendship demanded authenticity from each of us, and we wanted to stretch this power and surrender play into an erotically charged sacred sexual experience.

When in surrender, dangerous totally dissolves. She is Present in her vulnerability. And when in power, dangerous rears her Beast and rides that Beast with almost total abandon.
This is what Arjuna wanted of dangerous…to ride her Beast, riding him. To knit together the submission, the breath, and erotic charge of surrender, and to take Arjuna on that ride.

“Take me where you go” he whispered into my heart, into my eyes, into my gut. Into my Beast.

SHE began to stir within me, this Beast. SHE began to stir and dangerous felt the stirring deep in her gut and lower. Pussy tingling with desire to feel this man’s flesh beneath HER strength. To push this man into real and complete surrender.

SHE takes him by the hand, and leads him to the ladder. SHE has no hesitation. SHE undresses him, this man once called arjuna, SHE pulls his pants down, and leaves them there, part of the submission. SHE blindfolds him with a silk scarf, and binds his cock with yellow silk cord. SHE watches as he resists the binding, and SHE ties his balls as well. SHE uses hemp rope on his wrists, a simple knot, but oh so effective, and secures each wrist to the ladder. He squirms and dangerous lays her body against him on the ladder.

“Do not move,” SHE hisses into his left ear, and his body stills.

In the place between in-breath and out-breath, dangerous coaches this man once called arjuna; where to place his breath, where to place his intention, and they begin this wild ride, this erotic sensation play, this roller coaster of pleasure and pain.

SHE stands behind him, him tied securely on the ladder, his pants around his ankles, sightless, immobile, he waits.

SHE strikes with a sudden fierceness, that first blow. It’s a deerskin flogger, and SHE wields it mightily. It makes a thunderous clap and snap against his flesh, and he is startled, crying out, and SHE reaches out to him again. And again, and again. At times the fingers of the flogger just grazing his shoulders, his gorgeous ass. At times laying into his flesh like a ravenous beast, which of course, SHE is.

He wanted to meet HER, he invited HER in. And he was not disappointed.

There are times when dangerous forces HER to step aside. When dangerous checks on HER boi, caresses his ass so red from HER ministrations. Dangerous rides HER and this thrills dangerous. Dangerous is sweating in her leather and her red fluevogs, her hair loose and wild and free, her cunt filling with desire for this boi, and for HER, the Beast dangerous rides to take this man once called arjuna to this place of surrender and bliss.

Dangerous is breathing him, this boi, through his chakras; breathing him, in-breath, out-breath, and as pain surrenders to pleasure and the breath carries this exquisite pleasure throughout their bodies, SHE steps forward, roughly shoving against dangerous, and dangerous steps aside, smiling at HER, giving way to HER need, HER fury.

SHE pulls the horsetail flogger out, the one that matches HER hair, and lightly soothes his back with it. He purrs against that sensation, he relaxes into it, he surrenders. And SHE stands poised, flogger in her hands, hands high above HER head, gathering the power, allowing the energy to build in HER hands, waiting until he is ready. Waiting until his body wants it, asks for it, demands it, pleads for it. And into that place of want SHE strikes, quickly and powerfully as a black bear, HER claws extended, SHE rakes the horsetail across his back, his shoulders, his butt, his thighs.

He begins to cry, great racking sobs, and SHE is relentless. Dangerous caresses him, breathing him, spreading the energy, but SHE beats him. And he cries.

SHE taps his balls with HER hand, SHE grabs his cock, SHE fucks him with HER thigh as dangerous whispers loving encouragement, words of praise and admiration for this boi, so courageous as to invite HER to play with him.

Please he said, I am cold. SHE suspects he wants to divert attention from his cock, from his balls, but dangerous lovingly pulls up his pants. And SHE takes over again, pushes dangerous aside and bites his shoulder in that sweet vulnerable place just below his scapula, his angel wings, SHE takes his flesh into her teeth and it is all dangerous can do to keep HER from tearing that flesh triumphantly, tearing it from his body in a victorious cry of the warrior goddess SHE is.

But dangerous says no. “No” to HER who does not respond well to no, and dangerous prevails.

And then it is over. Over for dangerous. Over for this man once called arjuna.

As dangerous unties our boi, as she dresses him, as she leads him to a safe quiet place, his friends gather round him, around dangerous as well, and hold them carefully lovingly and tenderly, as dangerous takes him on a journey of breath, whispered instructions, as they breathe, and then the oh so quiet stillness of sub-space. He is drifting contentedly, dangerous drifting as well in the victory of having once again unleashed HER, ridden HER to this power place. The power of HER energy still flowing,

And dangerous turns to him and her intense desire acts freely. Dangerous poises over his face and when he sniffs her, she lowers her cunt onto his eager mouth. He is licking her cunt, sucking her clit. She cums, her squirt running down his face, forming a puddle on the cloth. She is sucking him and nibbling on him and she finds a condom and suddenly is riding him. His cock deep inside her, and dangerous cums again.

Dangerous is beside him, and the others as well: Seelie and Sage and Rascal on top, all kissing and licking and sucking and biting this beautiful man made more beautiful, beatific in fact, from his encounter with HER and they love this man back to Arjuna and he cums at last; a sweet stream of cum, his gift to HER and SHE finally surrenders to his cum, licking it from his cock, from his stomach where he has sprayed it. It is full and thick and white and sweet and oh so warm.

And SHE joined dangerous again and we drifted into that place of nothing and everything.

Later, a sip of water, a few sweet hello kisses, and we gradually disengaged, gathered our things, and returned to my bed, where I held Arjuna and he held me, and we slept together until long past dawn.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sugasm #173

September 21st, 2009 by Vixen | Updated: September 21st, 2009

HNT courtesy of Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #174? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Dressing Room Voyeur
“I caught his gaze this time, on purpose.”

It’s Always the Quiet Ones…
“So grabbing her hips, I pulled her in for a kiss.”

Behind Closed Doors
“Others had watched, she beat me, brought me to tears, held me and then began to untie me.”

Sugasm Editor
The Mouse Drama

Editor’s Choice
Let the Rain Come

More Sugasm
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Sunday, September 13, 2009

The Accidental Orgy

I was making out with The Red Headed Boy at the Birthday Party. We had already eaten our dinner, and served the cake.

Snake’s Hand: Here’s a tale to tell, although it is not central to this story. Tales like this are known as snake’s hands (with a quiet namaste to John Crowley). They aren’t so necessary to the telling of a story, but add something to the atmosphere. Like background music.

So my lover Rascal had a Birthday recently, and The Seelie Eyed Grrl and I gave him a party. We schemed and planned and shopped and cleaned and decorated and cooked and at 8 o’clock, the guests arrived. We served wine and near beer and soda and seltzer. Then dinner out on the verandah. Brisket burgers (The Butcher has a crush on me and grinds it for me specially. That’s a snake’s hand itself, all wrapped up within a snake’s hand…), and sashimi and grilled asparagus and all the rest. Everyone was happy and everything was going real nice. Smooth.

The mosquitoes crashed our little soiree around 10 or so, so we headed inside. Up the stairs to the play room, and the party suddenly got interesting.

Seelie and I began teasing Rascal, taking off his clothes, stealing kisses and grabbing his crotch while the guests lounged about urging us on. We laid Rascal in a bed of whipped cream, and placed the cakes and icings out all over his body. Raspberries and chocolate nibs decorated the icings decorating the cakes decorating his gorgeous body. And the guests were invited to eat the cake off our serving platter.

No forks of course.

Well, not surprisingly, people started to remove their clothes. After all, chocolate butter cream icing is yummy on cake, even better on Rascal’s left nipple, but not too cool on a white silk blouse, or new leather pants.

It was after the cake, as I was saying. I was making out with The Red Headed Boy. He is a really good kisser, but his whiskers were a little rough on my tender chin. When I came up for air, I noticed other couples were making out as well.

That’s when I got it, “Everyone thinks we’re going to have an orgy!”

I am a little slow sometimes. We were mostly nakkid, some of us still covered in chocolate butter crème and raspberries, making out to really hot music. Yep we were about to have an orgy.

We took a five minute break to discuss boundaries, STI history and testing results, etc. One of our friends decided to leave. I don’t think she was really ready for an orgy. We helped her find her things and kissed her good-bye.

We had lots of lube and condoms and gloves. Rascal offered to stick his dick in me, banishing my fear (“What if no one wants to fuck me?”). The Red Headed Boy was fingering The Seelie Eyed Grrl, and Rascal was playing with her breasts as he fucked me. I had someone’s dick in my mouth—I think it was The Other Guy. The Other Guy’s date was doing something with someone, I wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but I heard it when she came. That girl has some mighty vocal cords.

Folks began making sleeping nests around 3 am, seeking the comforts of pillows and blankets and each other. The Seelie Eyed Grrl and I snuggled one on either side of the Birthday Boi and we settled in.

The energy was running high, and I watched the sky becoming more and more bright, as dawn snuck around the corner. My hand was in my pussy, middle finger making smooth lazy circles around my clit, more for comfort than for orgasm. I finally drifted away in that majjic hour when what has been is more real than what may be, and no one would believe it anyway.

This is not a Snake’s Hand, but an aside:

Everyone has concerns about orgies. EVERYONE. It’s the logistics, not the moral question that gives most people pause.

Men worry, What if my dick gets shy, won’t show up? What if I’m not as skilled as the other guys? What if no one wants to fuck me?

Women worry, What if I am the fattest woman in the room? What if I don’t get off? What if no one wants to fuck me?

And everyone worries … do I have razor burn? How’s my breath? Is there’s a zit on my ass? What if no one wants to fuck me?

Here’s my advice about orgies: Once you’ve decided to play, once you’ve discussed sexual histories and you have discussed your boundaries with each other, turn off your head. Fall into the pleasure, Follow the pleasure. In breath. Out breath. Fall into the pleasure, Follow the pleasure. The rest will follow.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Sugasm #169

Jenny McClain courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #170? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Clothespin Communion
“Surrender to the sensation.”

Remembering the Pain
“And it really was that bad.”

Short And Sweet
“Why don’t you turn over”

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Financial Submission

Editor’s Choice

More Sugasm
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Thursday, July 2, 2009

Clothespin Communion

His face was intent, intense, as he led me to the chair. I could call him Angel, he said.
But no angel would do what he planned to do to me.

Hemp rope. The earthy raw smell of hemp rope. The smooth roughness of hemp rope. He made a game of it, dragging the rope across my skin, staring into my eyes the entire time. I began to trust this stranger, the man called Angel.

He tied my wrists, right hand first. I watched him passively, now already nearly his, I released. Gave mySelf over into subspace.
He secured my ankles, my thighs, my upper arms. He bound my breasts so tightly to the chair that I could barely breathe. Yes. This is what I wanted, what I needed.

It was my turn.

I was in the chair, spread eagle, my body exposed, my pussy exposed. Some gawkers stopped, some moved on. One guy watched, masturbating.
Watched the man called Angel as he topped dangerous. This man I had followed compliantly into this dungeon. This man I had never met before who promised nothing, and eventually delivered everything, or at least enough. Yes more than enough.

What are your safe words? He asked
Yellow, Sir, to slow down, check in. Red means stop.

He looked deeply into my eyes. He pinched my nipples, already sore and bitten and bruised, and clamped them with a pair of clothespins. I recoiled from the pinching, the searing, burning and then at last relaxed into the blessed numbness.

He stroked me so lovingly that for a brief moment I forgot that I was in his power. And then he reminded me.
A clothespin on my left outer labia. Such a tender crushing caused me to clench my legs against the bindings. Then breathe it in. Surrender to the sensation.
A clothespin on my lower lip. Exquisite, constant pressure.
A clothespin on my right outer labia. I’m moaning now. The Watcher increases his stroke.

The man called Angel decorated my entire body with clothespins: the soft tender flesh where my arms bend in toward my body, the rigid nails on toes and fingers, folds and pinches of skin and nerve endings wherever he could find them. And he found many. Each clamping required a bit more letting go, a deeper and deeper sinking.
I counted 6 clothespins buried in my left breast, and could not force myself to look at the right breast. I could not see anything anymore. I’d lost track of the Watcher. All I could see were his eyes. The eyes of the man called Angel.
The clothespins on my labia were tied together somehow, and he made them flap by pulling a string. This sent electric pulses throughout my pussy, waves of pleasure throughout my body. I felt safe, beautiful, admired, and cared for in an extreme way. I rode this pleasure, surfing the orgasm, which seemed at once so very close and so very far away.

He offered me his dick, large and soft and pliant and I begged him wordlessly to place it in my mouth. I looked up into his eyes and tickled the head of his dick with my tongue. I tongue fucked his dick, sucking deeply as he pulled in and out of my mouth. His dick was at that beautiful stage where I could still take him entirely into my mouth. His dick was rubbing up against that spot in my mouth just behind my upper teeth, that spot that feels like a g-spot to my tongue and responds like a g-spot in my body. I was very wet and he was slamming in and out of my mouth, and pulling the clothespin string which sent me into paroxysms of pleasure and pain.

I felt his energy shift, gather, as he prepared to come, and then he did. His salty semen spraying into my mouth. I held it and his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue gently over him. And when he began to remove the clothespins, he kissed me, and I shared the gift of his cum with the man called Angel.

The tenderness of the kiss, the energy of the cum, and the jolting return of sensation when the clothespins were removed were intensely powerful. I lost track of myself , and then he began to lick my pussy. My pussy wet and slick with want. He licked and licked and licked my pussy wet with longing. He pulled and sucked my clit until, finally and with reckless abandon, I tumbled over that edge. Leaving behind simply surfing the pleasure, riding the pain, the bobbling on the edge….I plunged into the sea of this orgasm, and then that one. And then the other, while he licked me and sucked me and drank in my cum.

And in my release I wept. I sobbed as he released my chest harness, then untied my feet and finally my hands. He cradled me closely to his body, murmuring to me sweet words of loving comfort, as I cried.

He dressed me carefully and led me to a bench under the stars.

He held my face between his hands, his right thumb gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek and finally spoke, “What makes you think you are so dangerous?”
“Why do you call yourself dangerous?” he whispered.
I don’t call myself dangerous, Sir. It is the tops that call me dangerous, I sob.
“Why would a Top call a sweet crying grrl dangerous?” he pushed….
It’s because they fall in love with me, Sir.

My tear stood poised on his right thumb. The man called Angel looked into my eyes, and licked his thumb.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Sugasm #167

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #168? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Every Time You Orgasm, An Angel Gets Its Wings
“There is nothing that screams “fuck you” to the pain and the hurt in the world than screaming “fuck me” to the person in your bed.”

HNT: Spanked
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. But tonight, I was sure.”

A Thousand Kisses
“This wasn’t enough. I knew that I had to try something else.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Congratulations, you’re invited!

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: Religion

Editor’s Choice
Food, fun and commitment

More Sugasm
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Thursday, May 28, 2009

Sugasm #166

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #167? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

This Week’s Picks
Bare-Assed Cheek (2): Punishment and Reward
“His finger glides up the inner side of my left thigh.”

Lilly’s Turn - Part 1: Wherein a Power Play is Made
“I asked her, outright, if she considered herself submissive.”

“Exquisite pain heralding exquisite surrender.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Is Sasha Grey going mainstream?

Sugasm Editor
A Difficult Scenario

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Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Poet Surrenders

We were entwined in the aftermath of loving, drifting in our post-orgasmic state.
Beyond thought. Beyond thinking. Beyond.

In this long-distance affair, we are hungry when we are together. The Poet has had his dick in my cunt numerous times already today, and I am drowsy, content. He hasn't ejaculated yet, although he's come many times. I graze my fingers over his back as we lay side by side, breathing together, barely speaking.

The sheets are a delicious tangle of red and purple. The Princess’ specialty is creating love nests for The Poet and his lover du jour, and she has really outdone herself tonight. There’s a fire in the fireplace, roses in a crystal vase, oranges from her fruit trees. Niyaz on the stereo, wine from Napa, Pellegrino on ice.
The Princess doesn’t play, but she loves to watch. She has draped the Love Nest with beautiful fabrics in a cacophony of colors; gold trimmed saris from India, blue and white batiks from Java, sheer fabrics hand-painted with glitter, laces from yard sales, and gauze from JoAnne’s. She peeks out from behind these cloths like an imp, a pixie, a Fairy Princess. She does not wish to intrude, simply to observe.
What is it that gives her Pleasure? Watching The Poet satisfy the lover? Watching the lover satisfy The Poet? Does she imagine herself in either role? I do not know. I only know that she watches and that she is happy.

I toy with The Poet’s ass as we drift in that nothing and everything space. He shivers and I begin to touch him with more intention. Not harder, not firmer, not looking to do anything to him, simply aware that he is receiving Pleasure from my fingers. We are face to face, eye gazing, breathing together in the Tantric Way. I am holding the male breath, into my cunt and out my heart, and he holds the feminine, into his heart and out his cock. We are deep in this space together. This space of heightening Pleasure, just when I thought I was done.

He whispers to me, “i want to be your Slut.”

I know what he wants but I ask anyway. I want him say it. “What do you want?”

“i want you to fuck me, i want you to fuck me. i want to be your Slut.”

I take this request in. We have not played this way before, and I know he’s never had anything bigger than my finger in his ass. It’s been his fantasy, I see it in his eyes. His need nakkid in his eyes. I would not deny this man I love.

I command his total attention as I reach into my toy bag and pull out my harness. I do not permit him to break contact with my eyes. He is shaking with his desire.

I choose the smaller of my dicks. The blue one. A condom on my dick and my dick in the Harness. Lube on me, lube on him. All the while in eye to eye touch, breathing in and out with this beautiful man who is about to surrender to my male. This man who is discovering his woman.

I hover over him as he lays on his back, legs in the air like a grrl, I find his sweet spot and place my dick right at the opening.

“Do you want it? Do you want my dick in your ass? Do you want my dick?”

In answer to my whispers, he begins moving rocking urgently begging, “please please fuck me.”

And my dick begins to enter him. His movements become fast and furious. I slow him, “breath with me,” I murmur, and as we breathe together, my dick slides in. Smoothly. One motion, to the second sphincter, and we breathe together. Then I glide in the rest of the way. I am deep inside him now. We are eye to eye, I feel his spasm his Pleasure beginning. His woman totally opening in surrender to Pleasure.

His cock stiffens and I begin to pump him, thrusting slowly at first, then ever so slightly faster. I move him around, he is on his left side and his right leg over my shoulder. I am on my knees his ass high in the air. His hand pumping his cock, until I stop him. Let the Pleasure fill you first, I command. Pleasure, Pleasure. Only Pleasure.

I move behind him, Each time we separate, he utters a little cry. It sounds like "don’t leave me," and I come back to him. He is so open now, I shove in. Hard. And pound his sweet ass with my dick, until he is thrashing on me.

And I grab his cock and hand fuck him while my dick ass fucks him. “Come to me, darling,” I coo. “Come, release into your Pleasure. Cum.”

He finally ejaculates, full rich thick white. It flies onto my hands, his belly, the red and purple sheets.

And in his release, he cries. Weeping, his shoulders shaking and sobbing and it touches a tender place in me. I praise him. I love him, I cradle him in my arms, I spoon him, I feed him his cum off my fingers. I hold him gently in this sacred moment. The moment where The Poet discovered his vulva.

The Princess has been peeking. She creeps in and curls in front of him, me behind him. My dick between his cheeks, his hand on her breast. And together we hold this tender woman man until she sleeps. Tangled in red and purple sheets. Beyond thought. Beyond thinking.


Friday, May 15, 2009



She is nearly inaudible. I bend low to hear her. “Yes?” It is my turn to be gentle and soft and strong. “Yes, Seelie?”

Please. Please hurt me some more. Hurt me. Please.

She’s sobbing now, writhing on the suspension. Her ass not merely pink, but deeply scarlet. Our partner has left paddle marks over both cheeks. Her shoulders are covered in whiplashes, the right a bit more intense than the left. I have never seen anything more beautiful.

And I tell her so, whispering repeatedly, “You are beautiful,” as my horsetail flogger meets her back, her buttocks, her thighs in a crisscross pattern that I know from personal experience is unbearable. Or more accurately spoken, nearly unbearable. Exquisite pain heralding exquisite surrender.

The Seelie Eyed Grrl is in the space of total altered consciousness. She does not know what sensation is next. She fights. She cries. She cries. She cries. She is Ours and Ours totally.

“You are so beautiful,” I whisper in her ears, caressing her hair, her breasts, her back, her thighs, her ass, her cunt. I touch her beautiful skin, spreading the sensation, as I lean closely to bite her just under the scapula, grabbing that delicious flesh and rolling it between my teeth. Until only the skin remains trapped in my passion. I long to tear this white flesh. And it is the trust she gives me that permits me, in fact requires me to leave her beautiful body marked, but intact.

I am deeply aroused in her surrender, at our control. Our control of The Seelie Eyed Grrl, blindfolded, bound, wearing only her stockings and her pretty, pretty red shoes.

And I am aroused by the control I have over my own Beast. The Beast who desires more than anything to hurt, to cause deep pain inside this beautiful woman. This Beast who serves only me.

Our Lover loosens her wrists minutely, and fucks her face violently as I stroke and admire her ass. I am eye-locked over her back with him, as he shoves his dick into her mouth. I am eating her ass and see in his face the same greed for her pain and the same respect of this desire. And the great rousing passion at riding this Beast: The victory the strength of control of power.

Then she is tied again tightly in total surrender. I begin to tap her pussy with my deerskin flogger gently, gradually, then more forcefully until I do not dare to push her harder.

And yet, I do.

The flogger cracks and snaps against her flesh. “I can feel how you much want this,” I whisper. “You are wet. You are dripping on the floor. You are so beautiful.”

And he begins to eat her as she finally topples over this edge she has been surfing. Tumbling swirling crying and cuming, her juices are running down his arms, until all is sensation and all sensation is Pleasure. I am cooing in her ears, “i love you, i love you, i love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou…”

Pleasure and sensation and love and surrender. We rest, spooning in a blanket. No words. No tears. Sweetness only.

And Pleasure, which begins of course, with please.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

This Week's Picks: Sugasm.

This Week’s Picks
Confessional: Breaking the Girl
“And that’s why I’ll love it, that’s what will fuel me to dig deeper.”

Does Art imitate Life or Life Art?
“We were experimental and conventional and some times both in the same round of sex. ”

It burns…
“And this is no sweet kissing”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
A Porn Customer Protests

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Teabagging

Editor’s Choice
Light Me Up Right

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Friday, May 1, 2009

A Woman called Dangerous

What more should be said of Dangerous?

Women equally love Dangerous, and fear her. Women long to be Dangerous, and judge her simultaneously.
The same could be said of men.
And is certainly true of the author of this hymn. This adulation of Dangerous.

Dangerous has red hair, the kind of red hair that called to the stake in centuries past. Her hair is noticeable in the shade of forest and clouds and trees, but it is in the sun that her hair ignites. Her hair burning down her back reaching to her knees, so that the fool may mistake it for real fire and run for water in order to save her. To save Dangerous from her flaming red hair.

She does not walk so much as slither, does not slither so much as smolder. While angelic women sparkle and playful women dance, Dangerous oozes, radiating her sex like heat from pavement in early March, unexpected and oh so very dangerous.

Her body is full and ripe and inviting. Her glance strong, confident and mischievous. Her smile claims secrets she will never reveal.

All her lovers have hidden photographs of Dangerous’ breasts. The drunken fools who have known her for a long time have yellowed snapshots, from real film, the edges frayed from too much handling.

Her nipples swollen from the kisses of her other lovers, and your bite marks decorate her body like wanton jewelry. Her surrender in each moment is complete, and she wears the whiplash marks from your single-tail with pride.

Her ass is round and inviting as she lowers it over your face. You may smell, she whispers, but you may not eat. She drips into your mouth, and she dances her ass her cunt over your face.

She is as tasty as she is beautiful. She pisses on you, gifts you the bitterness the sweetness the longing of her. This is your reward. Longing and a sniff; if she favors you, you may lick. Her flavor the sweet honey of pleasures past.

Her pussy resembles a lioness in full heat. She will open to you, each petal with its own life and fragrance. Damp, moist, dripping wet, she invites you to fill her. Her desire is powerful, intense, compelling. Deny her or come to her. It makes no difference. Whatever you decide will be your peril.

Dangerous teases boy into man late at night, while you sleep in sweet unknowing. He will seek Dangerous for the rest of his life, and if fate toys with him, he will meet her. It will be his last rational moment.

Madmen have their own tales of the search for Dangerous.

She will give you anything. But be careful, she will give you exactly what you ask. You may not get it in the way or in the time that you hoped for. You may not want it once you get it. But you will be changed forever by the encounter.

She will leave before you are ready. Guaranteed. The lucky ones she has loved will guard their memories like stolen diamonds.

There is a reason she is called Dangerous.
And Beware.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

A Three Way with Adonis

We met at Summer Camp. No, not the YMCA day camp you attended when you were 8. Not the sleepover camp of your early adolescence, where you and your new best friend snuck out at night to paddle silently to the Boys Camp across the lake. And it’s not the camp where you were a counselor when you were 18 -- that year you were sent home for being a bad influence on the kiddies.

No this Summer Camp was one of wanton disregard for such small things as curfew, and street-ready clothing, and prohibitions against pissing outside. On your friends.

This Summer Camp was peopled by leather wearing sadists, and bois who will shine your shoes, if you ask their Daddy. And men who line up for the gang-bang, fluffed by a famous pornstar, and gorgeous women suspended in trees. The sex lounges are full of sweaty bodies, and you can watch or play. And trannys dressed so fine they outshine the sun goddess, and it is Summer Camp.

Summer Camp where most of the sports involve blood, or whips, or ropes made of hemp, or flame or floggers. Where the zoo contains very pettable ponies, and Power is met with Surrender. Where sissy bois serve coffee and bourbon, and your cabinmate may wake up in your bed. Where the dungeon is a 24 hour affair, and the blinding rhythms spun by the best dressed DJ on earth rock your world.

I was fucking Rascal outside by the pool, wearing my gorgeous strap on (Leather By Danny) and my double header. We were on the Liberator Pad, and had brought the usual supplies…butt lube, Magnum XLs for Rascal and a bottle of wine, some chocolate and strawberries for later. We also had random blankets and pillows, which gradually began to fill up with spectators.

A couple of friends stopped by to compare technique, and to fondle Rascal. I got a lovely kiss from The Beautiful Grrl With The Innocent Smile, and we made a date for later that afternoon.

Adonis strolled by and sat down on a blanket next to us. Adonis is exactly the type of Boi-o Dangerous enjoys. He is tall and slender and blond, and sweet and painfully shy. I longed to touch him, and invited him to play with us. Rascal and me. Adonis was willing, and the juicy wet kisses began.

In that place of ignited sexy energy, it didn’t really matter whose lips were on my lips, whose nipple I was biting or whose dick in my hand, in my mouth. Juicy wet and hot, the consciousness shift, altered as though drugged. My dick in my cunt. My dick in Rascal’s ass. Adonis sucking Rascal’s cock, Rascal sucking Adonis’ cock. His cock in my mouth. My teeth in his chest. Him finally fucking my ass, while I fucked Rascal’s.

Sounds swirling around us all—Adonis murmering, Rascal vibrating, and me “oh!” and “oh!” again.

Dissolving into whose parts were whose. Teeth and lips and sighs and cocks and assholes, and all melting into Pleasure.


And then a nap in the sun. And the admiration of the spectators and the passers-by.

Later we feed each other strawberries and chocolate, and passed wine between our mouths and someone brought us ice cream and we shared that as well.

Then, I gathered my belongings and threw them all on The Liberator and wandered away for my date with The Beautiful Grrl With The Innocent Smile.

My smile was dangerous.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Loving Seelie

A brunette, her eyes are Brown and Green and Gold…definitely not hazel, she looks at her lover through seelie eyes, The Seelie Eyed Grrl.

Her armpits are furry, her legs as well. Her pussy warm and wet and mysterious. She smells of lotus flower petals dropping one by one. She smells of the forest floor near the stream. She smells of May grass freshly mown and of the cool earth in July. She smells of snow, and rain, and violets. She smells of glittering days before. She smells dirty and sweaty and full and ripe. She smells of longing and desire and the semen of her lovers.

She leaves bite marks on my body with her perfect teeth. These marks never fade, and years later will thrill me in the sight of them, each sight of them bringing alive the exquisite agony of her teeth burrowing into my chest, my nipples my armpits my thigh my cunt.

Her breasts are firm and full and hang tantalizingly close to my mouth, always just out of reach. Her nipples puffy, swollen. Her ass is compact and smooth and soft with a dimple on one side. Her ass is often photographed, and it is especially pretty with bright pink handprints of a sound spanking across her cheeks.

She licks my juices from the fingers of our shared lover with a greediness that causes me, Dangerous, to become shy and blush.

Sometimes we play with our lover together, his cock passed between us in an utterly abandoned frenzy of tongues, fingers and occasionally, teeth. When he moans, we smile like conspirators, like children eating stolen peaches. When he cums, we kiss, sharing that amazing gift of our lover. His semen entering us, in that kiss, that kiss that we share.

The Seelie Eyed Grrl and Dangerous.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Licking Ass in Sordid Hotel Rooms

Every once in a while I meet an asshole. In a world where a cock ring constitutes "dressed for dinner," it would be difficult to miss them.

When I am wildly outta control aroused, that is to say, when I am Dangerous, I like to eat ass. I'm ambivalent really about having my ass eaten. I love a nice rimming and really adore a good ass fuck, but the tongue thrusting in and out doesn't really do it for me. Frankly it is too small for that. But if you like my tongue in and outta your ass, well, we should talk.

The ass I most like to eat belongs to my boifriend, Rascal. Actually I like doing lots of things to Rascal's ass. I will penetrate his asshole with anything I tongue, fingers, vibrators, dildos in strap-ons. Especially, dildos in strap-ons.

Once in a three way with Seelie Eyes, I fucked Rascal's ass with my finger while he fucked her with his bio-dick. I could feel and caress the root of his gorgeous cock as he was pushing in and out of her beautiful and wide open pussy. I was closer than a porn shot. I could smell the smells of their sex, and see her labia contract and relax as she rose to meet him and when she came, I got her juices all over my face.

Wow that was hot.

Oh even better, once when he was fucking DC Dakini, I licked both of their asses like a giant ice cream cone. Up over her rosebud, around her taint, gliding over his balls, his taint, then circling his asshole and back down. Over and over, that same slow languid way, licking and sucking gently, and perhaps not so gently, on his balls, then finally greedily down to her ass again. Then I fucked them both in the ass. Right hand for him, left hand for her (I am careful about things like that). I could feel his dick pounding in her cunt through her ass, and the root of his cock as he moved inside of her. She's the quiet type, and when she came it was sweet really, a big sigh, a spasm. He came with a bit more force, and with my fingers in his ass, I felt the entire thing. It sent me over the edge, and I came, too.

I am not especially the quiet type.

Later DC Dakini and Rascal and I played in the shower. Then we dressed for dinner, me in my leathers, DC Dakini in her girly stuff. What did Rascal wear?

Well, Rascal wore his cock ring, of course.

Aside: Thank you, kinky reader, for your patience when I was ill. Feeling much better now, and planning more tales of Once Upon Dangerous....your feedback welcome!

Saturday, March 14, 2009

The Cartographer of Pussy

Once in Europe, a friend asked me to look at her pussy. She thought it was deformed. In fact, she had an appointment with a 'beauty surgeon" to have her inner labia removed, to make her pussy look more like she thought everyone else's Pussy looked.

Clearly she has not looked at as many Pussies as I have.

After a show and tell involving 12 ladies with wildly unique and mesmerizingly beautiful Pussys, my friend canceled her appointment for a clitorectomy and vulvoplasty. A small victory for Pussy worldwide, perhaps, but a major victory for my friend. She discovered her Pussy was beautiful.

Betty Dodson ( see her webpage ) taught me alot about Pussy, although at the time I was mostly interested in the Pussy of the grrl I was interested in.

Her name really was Lola, although she preferred to be call Truth. She was living in a communal house with her Squeeze and her two kids, and THIS GUY that I liked. I had hitchhiked across the county to give him a blow job, but he was freaked by my commitment to his semen, so I bunked in with Squeeze and Truth. Slept with Truth in the middle to keep it respectable.

Slept with Squeeze and Truth, innocently, like cousins sharing a bed. Like cousins sharing a bed, we carefully avoided touching, just an accidental butt to thigh as we turned over. And turned over, restless in our sleep, turned over again. And turned over again, then my hand brushed her side close to her breast, ripe, and ripely forbidden. Squeeze was snoringly oblivious to us, when I tentatively reached to cup her breast in my hand. The breast of Truth nestled in my hand. I was deeply thrilled, like a 10 year old discovering Pleasure.

Me on my left side, my right arm flung over her waist and my right hand caressing her breast. Her breast heavy and sullen with the milk for her youngest, and I toying with it, found my fingers swimming in a deluge of her.

I nuzzled her, her nipples moist, my lips moist, licking, and biting, and then I was sucking. Sucking and swallowing and being fed by this mother-womb'un. Fed in a ritualistic holy and purely sexual (what else could one call it but it's own name?) encounter, breath to breast, milk on tongue, nipple deep in my mouth. Her milk pouring down my throat and I fell in love. In love with this womb'un named Lola, but called Truth.

Truth stroked my hair and made little whimpering noises. Her sounds woke up Squeeze, and when he began to stroke her Pussy, i became very shy, serious. After all Squeeze was her man. He had a dick. He would be able to finish what i had started.

I was 19. It was a long time ago. I think I got up to make pancakes or something equally ridiculous. When I wandered back to the bedroom to serve them coffee, Squeeze was on top of Truth in a sort of missionary position and they were both whimpering. Neither noticed the coffee or me.

After I left that house in Americus, Kansas, I was determined to learn everything I could about Pussy. I wanted to be able to give Pleasure to Pussy, to 'finish what i started.' I dedicated myself to the exploration of Pussy. I aspired to become The Cartographer of Pussy.

Not such an easy task, I soon discovered. When I finally found myself eye-to-eye with Pussy, I became energetically tongue-tied. Unable to remember what to do, I hummed. And hummed, and hummed, etc. A human vibrator. The womb'un attached to Pussy thanked me later, "It was so beautiful."

Damnation. I really wanted to rock her world.
Beautiful, I reasoned, was for pussies.

aside: THIS GUY never overcame his reluctance to cum in my mouth and that was the last time I saw him. He now wears khakis to work every day and sells sofas to up and coming faculty at KU. Many years later, I named my first dog after him. The story entertained guests for 14 years.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The Poet and The Princess

The Poet has a delicious ass. I like to spank The Poet until his bottom is red and warm.
Then we fuck, locking eyes; his crazy with wildness of desire and mine lost in pleasure. Remembering that makes me wet.

The Poet writes me poetry (who would have guessed?) and it is tender and holy and romantic. I respond with sexy thoughts and he literally blushes.

I once bit him so hard that he asked me to stop. I guess blood streaming down over his nipples and chest was his boundary.

Aside: People I know talk a lot about boundaries. I’ve attended entire workshops on boundaries. (Negotiating Boundaries with Your Lover, BDSM and Boundaries, etc) To me it is really simple-if you do something that you later regret, you’ve probably crossed your boundaries. It would be really cool to know your boundaries before you let your boyfriend take photographs of you licking your boyfriend’s dog’s balls, but hey nobody’s perfect.

The Princess is very flirty but she doesn't play very often. That is her boundary. She once danced over me stark nakkid as I lay on the floor with The Poet. I could see her pussy as she moved to the music. Remembering that makes me wet, too.

The Poet and The Princess live together. (Tres romantic, n'est-ce pas?) They like to throw outrageous parties, and I like to go and be outraged.

Once at a party at The Poet and The Princess's house a guy I don't know very well (aka, He Who Needs) wanted to have a serious navel-examining conversation with me in the Temple Space, amidst sweaty, writhing bodies. That did not make me wet and I said no thank you.

That was me exercising my boundaries.

Friday, February 27, 2009

The Dungeon

He undressed me slowly. So slowly that a small group of spectators started to form, one at a time in the darkened dungeon space. As each garment fell away, He held my eyes in HIS. Commanding me to think only of HIS eyes. Then I was totally unveiled, and HE blindfolded me. There were 5 people watching.

The handcuffs HE chose had fur lining. Such a beautiful contradiction, the warm leather straps and unyielding metal links and sweet comfort of rabbit fur against my skin.

I am lost in sensation.

HE begins to tie my handcuffs to the cross, and I am suddenly instinctively fighting HIM. Knowing what HE plans to do to me with my single-tail nemesis, raises the “Oh No You Don’t” response, and I am scratching, clawing, biting, kicking HIM. I untie one arm as HE ties the other. I pull HIS hair. I do not submit. I am a cat, a large fighting cat, my lips pulled back, my teeth exposed, I will kill this fucking HIM who attempts to subdue me. HE grabs my hair, and pulls my head back, way back.

I am feeling very Dangerous.

HE strikes me. Intensely. Hard. No gentle wakening of my skin. No first loving caresses. No fucking ostrich feathers. Just the single tail and the red welt on my back.

It feels as though my skin has been suddenly slashed. I must be bleeding. I feel blood running down my shoulder. I ‘see’ blood dripping down my back.

I breathe into the burn of it. And in that millisecond, my body relaxes. Responds. Opens. Opens to the not-caring if i am bleeding, or if i am not. Opens to the trust of HIS whip. To the surrender of what is. Another lash, and i am suddenly writhing in the Pleasure of the re-programmed sensation.

No Longer Dangerous; i am only Pleasure. Eager for the next whip stroke. HE caresses me with HIS hands and i moan with frustration. i long for the sting the burn the fire.

Whack, my right shoulder. Whack, my left shoulder. Whack somewhere, anywhere, just please do not stop.

Please, i whisper.

Thud on my butt. Sting on my butt. Blood rolls down my body. Painted in blood, dripping in blood.

Please, i whisper.

HE expertly wraps to my yoni from my butt, and i cum. HE drinks me in, gulps my squirt, face buried in my pussy, and i continue riding this incredible long Pleasure wave, surfing, shooting the tube. Wrapped in Pleasure, permeated with Pleasure. All is Pleasure.

Pleasure, and his tongue, lapping at my clit. Then i am untied, and gently lowered to the mat. He holds me, admires the welts on my breasts, thighs, butt. The welts he put there, when he was HE.

The welts He put there when I was i.

In the shadow of Pleasure, we sleep, spooning until long past dawn.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

In Praise of Penises

Some of the most beautiful penises in the world have passed through my lips. Not all of them certainly, and if you are reading this and wondering, "Why hasn't my penis been in Dangerous' lips?" you are right to complain.

I have very nice lips.

This is my Hymn to Penises. I love all the other bits too; fingers and lips and tongues and teeth (especially teeth!) and balls and toes and assholes (okay I do have a certain fondness for assholes...more on that later!).

And my special joy is a penis in my mouth. A penis in my mouth feels whole and natural and right somehow. It doesn't matter if it is hard or soft, big or small, cut or not.

Sometimes I have fallen asleep with a penis in my mouth, like a baby on a breast.

And sometimes I have woken Rascal up by putting his penis in my mouth. This is especially nice because it is so warm and soft, and has that particular morning after smell so unique to him. He gets a little hard, stirs in his sleep and then moans himself awake and when he realizes that it is not a dream, he goes wild, pumping in and out of my mouth. Crazy style. And then his hard dick is thumping up against the roof of my mouth in that tender place and I have a mouth orgasm. Honest to Gawdess, I come in my mouth.

And he thinks I am doing this for him.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

cast of characters: Rascal and Seelie-Eyes

I have a boifriend named Rascal.

Rascal fucks me. I fuck Rascal.
Rascal has a red single tail that I like very much. I still have marks on my breasts and thighs from the last time.
I have a strap-on (Leather by Danny) that Rascal likes very much. I make him put his legs in the air, and when I am tired, he begs me to fuck him some more.
Rascal lets me suck his cock for my pleasure.
Rascal is my chew toy. I like to bite him as I am cumming. Sometimes I bite him too hard, and he whimpers a little.

Rascal has a grrlfriend named Seelie-Eyes.
Rascal fucks Seelie-Eyes. Seelie-Eyes also fucks other people, including grrls. Seelie-Eyes is wild, and sweet, and an amazing masseuse.
Seelie-Eyes likes to bite Rascal as well.

Right now Rascal would have a lot of explaining to do at the public swimming pool.