Monday, December 17, 2012

The Most Romantic, Sexiest Thing I've Read This Week

I'm as guilty of it as anyone.

When I don't feel sexy--don't feel attractive, don't have the energy, don't feel right in my own skin--I don't want to have sex. More often than not, this really is a case of "It's not you; it's me." It's me whom I'm unhappy with in those moments and has little to do with my partner. I don't like my weight. I don't like my skin. I don't like my hair. I don't like that creeping feeling of blah dragging me under.

And, for the most part, I think that's completely legit. I don't think one should have to have sex when they aren't feeling sexy. And, perhaps, I tend to take it for granted, seeing that I have a demanding libido that tends to kick my ass back out of its funk fairly quickly. But a part of me does recognize that that feeling, more so than anything about my size, skin, hair, or life, is the ugly part.That the indulgent irrationality of it hurts not just my partner, but me as well.

So when I read this article, it really made me think:

If She Can Do It...

Friday, December 7, 2012

Even If I Say It, Don't Stop - Part Two


The Framework of Fantasy 
– Part Two
Read Part One Here

Read the rest of "The Framework of Fantasy" in this amazing anthology from Cleis Press!

Whether you're simply curious about submission or regularly revel in the delights of BDSM, these sixty-nine erotic short stories about submissives will turn you on! From participating in a musical recital that takes a very kinky turn to making a grocery run while using sex toys to indulging in a risqué office encounter during working hours, these subs delight in obeying (or deliberately disobeying) their masters and mistresses in public and in private. They're rewarded and punished the most wicked of ways that will leave you breathless. Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, with stories by Selena Kitt, Jade A. Waters, Dorothy Freed, and Sommer Marsden, among other talented writers, The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2 offers arousing tales that delve deep into the thrills of spanking, bondage, power dynamics, service, exhibitionism, erotic adventure, and much more.


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BREAKING THE RULES!
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UNIDENTIFIED FETISH OBJECT
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SEXT ME SWEETLY
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Thursday, December 6, 2012

When That Lovin' Feeling Fades

It's a favorite topic of mine. I've done far too much research on it. From the Diplozoon paradoxum, parasites who smush themselves together until nothing of one exists that isn’t at least in part part of the other--sadly the only proven monogamous creature in existence--to evolutionary biological theories on the size and shape of the human "plunger penis" that claims we're designed to cheat.

It's a reality that's very hard to deny, that the love and romance that stories have promised us since our Disney-filled childhoods...don't last forever after. That love too often ends. That passion inevitably fades. That we aren't built or wired for the kind of love so many of us long for.


Do enough research and it's hard to remember why one would seek love at all, given marriage failure rates and the rise of the cheating culture. Somewhere between our days of playing princess and adulthood, the dream of monogamy, marriage, and love have become such depressing topics. So often it feels as if, as Kate McKay said, that "maybe that whole love thing is just a grown-up version of Santa Claus; just a myth we've been fed since childhood. So, we keep buying magazines, joining clubs, and doing therapy and watching movies with hit pop songs played over love montages all in a pathetic attempt to explain why our love Santa keeps getting caught in the chimney."


So, yes, it was nice to read an article about the topic that didn't seem defeatist, didn't seem to roll over and accept the death of the dream. Didn't just assume that we're creatures of impluse and hormones without will over our biological wiring. That instead offered hope strengthened by hard work and dedication. That threw out the thought that a dream held since childhood is a dream worth at least a little effort before calling it quits.


New Love - A Short Shelf Life

Monday, December 3, 2012

Tie Me Up, Please - Part Two


One Man's Treasure – Part Two
Read Part One Here
 I thought it would be fun to release this back history story. This is Max's first real kinky experience long before Show Me, Sir ever took place. Hopefully, it can give you a little perspective on how she became who she is. Please, enjoy.


Ah, yeah. His heart skipped and his cock jerked. He was panting. And he didn’t care. He shuddered at the thrill of a playfully wicked woman wielding her weapon at his helpless form. His body tugged against his bonds, feeling the chair waver without giving.

Max pulled at his shirt’s collar, fisting the material in one hand, forcing him forward. He tipped his head back, baring his neck, as she brought the scissors down. He wished he could see it as it slipped beneath the worn, white cotton but, from this angle, all he could do is picture it in his head. He imagined he could feel the cold of the steel against his skin. The slightest prick of the scissors’ point at his throat. 

He hissed and tensed as he heard the squealing, metallic scratch as the scissors sliced through his shirt. He looked down at the small slit as Max laid aside the scissors. He groaned as she gripped the two sides of the rip in her tight fists before yanking, rending his shirt in half. His chest heaved as she bared him. His back bowed as awareness—a heightened rush—hit him.

“Better,” she mused as she ran her hands—just the hint of her nails—down his chest. “Definitely better.”

“Miss Fair Play,” he grunted out as her fingers dipped just beneath the elastic of his gym shorts, “how about a little turnabout?” 

She smiled and nodded concedingly before she lowered onto all fours. Crawling up his legs, she straddled his thighs. Her hot core settled and rubbed against his hardening cock. He groaned as her hips dipped, pressing herself harder against him, fitting their bodies tightly. 

She caught his gaze, holding it daringly. “Don’t look down,” she purred as she reached for the hem of her shirt. 

Oh, that was mean. 

He grinned as he steadfastly locked his gaze on hers. Even as the hint of bared flesh teased his periphery, he kept his eyes up. Almost out of his vision, he could see the tempting flash of soft, round tummy. The decadent dip of her navel. Dear God, the rise of her full, lush, stacked breasts. 

The nipples got him. He was fine until those pink nipples, flushed a deep rose, peeked out from beneath the rising material, drawing his gaze magnetically down. He couldn’t help it. 

Maybe he was weak.

She laughed as she tossed her tank top aside. “You’re so easy.”

Was that better or worse than weak?

And did it even matter when her perfect breasts were all but in his face?

He leaned forward—pulled his form almost painfully taut—to capture one nipple in his mouth. He suckled her as she wriggled over his lap. He was switching to the other when she began skinning off her shorts and panties. But he barely got his lips around the sweet bud before she pulled out of reach, discarding the cloth in her hand with a quick flick over her shoulder. He pouted, disappointed, until he felt her hands skimming his shorts down. With a relieved sigh, he lifted his hips. 

His whole body jerked as she freed his semi-hard dick. She smiled as she wrapped her hand around him. He moaned as her warm hand squeezed. She stroked him, slow and sweet. Teasing him with it as she stared into his heated gaze. With slow deliberateness, she leaned down to take him into her mouth, watching him watch her.

She sucked him deep into her mouth, laving him with her tongue. He lifted his knee slightly to press against her hot, damp pussy, making her moan around his shaft—a sound he could feel deep in his gut. She gyrated against him, grinding her clit and slick lips into his knee.

His back arched as he let his head fall back onto the chair’s densely stuffed cushion. Ah, damn, it was good. She was good. The feel of her mouth on his cock was mind-robbing, a lick of fire against his senses. God, he wanted to grab her head. Wanted to bury his fingers in those fiery strands and move her. Faster. Harder. Wanted to hold her to him. 

His wrists wrenched against his bonds, begging for freedom. His body pulled the chair millimeters forward, dug it deep into his back. “Max,” he grunted, the sound a guttural plea. “Max.”

She gave him one last, long suck, pulling every thought and feeling in him down with every move of that delectable mouth. Then she released him, making him cry out in a maddening mix of relief and disappointment as she left him.

And then she was there, sliding a condom on him. It shouldn’t have been so exciting. The act itself so perfunctory and matter-of-fact. A necessary and ordinarily ordinary task. Done with more haste than seduction. But, because it meant an end, a release—his release—every touch felt like a caress.

And, when she finally lifted herself over him, coming to kneel over his lap as if it were an altar, he whispered husky words of gratitude like prayer. Her wet pussy gripped him as she sank his cock deep inside her. Her arousal like molten lust as he thrust his hips up in grateful, greedy greeting.

His fingers dug into the cheap carpet’s shag as she rode him, her slick sheath so tight as her strong legs lifted her up and down on his willing body. He bucked beneath her too but, bound, he could only move so much. 

It should have been restricting. Frustrating. 

But, instead of wishing the ties away, Rob felt as if they heightened everything. Made him forget about finesse or impressing Max with moves or positions. Took him—as a lover, an actor—out of the equation. So used to fucking a woman, he was now being fucked. Those simple strips of cloth were making him face his pleasure. No holds. No bars. No responsibility. No control.

Pure freedom.

Pure pleasure.

With an almost painful cry, he came. Without choice. Without will. Without mercy, his climax ripped through him as he arched against the heavy, unmovable chair.

Incapable of thought for long moments, he just breathed, letting the intense sensations flow through him. He had never come so hard. Never felt so replete. He’d never felt so supremely satisfied.

She hadn’t come though. He regretted that. Or would. When he could think again. He’d make it up to her. Later. When he could remember how to move. 

She’d done this for him. He knew that. She’d likely gotten little more than a crazy college-sex story. She hadn’t even climaxed. But, while no big deal for her, she had made his fantasy come true; he owed her at least an orgasm. 

Or forty. 

If she’d let him. 

Rob twitched as he felt Max reach for one of his wrists. Languidly, he turned to watch her untie his now stiff limbs. He shuddered as she rubbed at the now raw, marked skin where the ties had pulled tight. “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked as she laid a gentle kiss just above the slightly bruised skin.

He shook his head. “A little sore,” he admitted, flexing his other arm as blood rushed freely again. A little sore, sure, but so worth it. He was going to make it up to her. Was going to show her how much he appreciated it. Appreciated her. 

He should find a way to do the same for her, to return the favor. 

He wanted to be worth the effort. Because—whatever she asked—this was worth it.

So he wrapped his still stiff arms around her, cuddling her close. He kissed the top of her head, the soft, vibrant strands tickling his face. “So,” he asked her, his voice still raspy with slated lust, “what’s one of your fantasies?”



THINK YOU OWN ME?
Please check out my novel Show Me, Sir from Sinful Press that celebrates feminist kink!


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Saturday, December 1, 2012

Further Proof that Kinksters are the Overthinkers of the World

It's pretty well known in the kink world that the community is made up of geeks and nerds. To those out of the community, this always seems strange. Vanilla folks always like to imagine us to be these dark, mysterious, exotic, nighttime creatures who exist only in this fantasy world that is completely separate from the real one, when in truth we're the same people dressing up as Klingons and Justice Leaguers at Comic Con and Convergence.

The thing is this always made perfect sense to me. Kinksters are the geeks and nerds of the sexual world. Think about it. Take role play; who would be more interested in this type of play than the the LARPers, the theatre kids, and the Dungeon & Dragon lovers? What about all the toys, whips, floggers, rope, etc? Of course, geeks and nerds would love this! Skills that need to be learned, honed, and mastered; hell, yes, sign us up and we'll make those skills our bitch! Kink takes an intelligence, a dedication, and a passion that I've only seen in geeks and nerds.

Geeks and nerds are the overthinkers of the world. We're the highly educated. We're the highly curious. And, yes, we're tend to be the highly--oft fanboy/girl-ishly--passionate. We think about and learn and geek out over everything; why wouldn't we apply that same passion and excitement to sex?

So, yes, when anyone asks me what I look for in a partner, this is why my answer is inevitably, "I love me my geeks."


Harvard To Approve BDSM Sex Club Called Harvard College Munch