Poetic Justice

So, ironically, I've been watching , on YouTube, talks, speeches, and appearances of Hitchens all day. And it would only be appropriate that my whole hearted embracing of atheism should come back and bite me on the ass on this of all nights.

It would be laughable if it wasn't so fucking painful.

I woke up today not wanting to attend the festivities. Or, rather, in conflict about it. The same conflict I feel every fucking year. I am a loser, and the annual familial confession of that fact is not something I look forward to. At the same time I know my family wants to see me, and don't give a shit that I am confused or unsure about my way in the world. They don't care that I am making missteps all over the place. They love me already, they've settled on that, and there are very few things I could do that would dissuade them from that notion.

They don't look on me with pity. They never ask when I'm gonna get married. There's no pressure to propagate the family name. They don't purposefully or inadvertently insult me. They respect my opinion and validate my emotions. They are genuinely happy to see me, and as much as I fear their repudiation, it's never happened.

I woke up today lamenting having to attend, and find myself disappointed that I am forced to be left out.

Bah Humbug

I'm doing a little experiment tonight. I'll be doing multiple posts throughout the evening as I get more and more drunk. I'm going to post what comes to mind as it comes to mind, because I have nothing else to fucking do.

Normally this night would be spent in the presence of my family. Traditionally I'd be celebrating the Feast of the Seven Fishes with my loved ones, but this year I have no way to get to the open house my aunt holds annually. The free booze, unconditional love, and copious amounts of seafood I've become accustomed to consuming on this night are unavailable this year. My sister, who I had planned on hitching a ride with, has decided she isn't attending, therefore forcing me to also opt out.

So, I will spend this evening getting ever more wasted on vodka cocktails and blogging. I have a few ideas about subjects for my drunken rambles, and we'll just see how it goes. My typing, even when sober, leaves much to be desired, but seeing how this is an "experiment" the results could be worthwhile no matter what they reveal.

Anyway, I don't expect this to be of interest to anyone but myself, and I am curious to see what I end up with in the blindingly sober light of morning...

Shitlist

So, I have had a run of getting shit on by some guys in my life. Other than M, they've been coming out of the woodwork to tell me what a crap person I am. And I'm so sick of it.

I sorta posted about this before in July. At the time Ry was giving me a hard time, so I stopped talking to him for a while. I started back up talking to him recently, I guess the passage of time had erased the memory of his arrogance. But he soon reminded me, and I've since decided that I really can't have "friends" like that anymore. I think he believes he's being funny when he talks shit about my job, relationships, and life choices, but really he's just being an asshole. He said I should get in contact with him if "the old Laani comes back," and I thought to myself,"O? You mean the 19 year old who let you fuck her while you stuck your cock into anything you could get your hands on? Yeah, she ain't coming back."

There have been others, some worse, some more sympathetic, and I'm just bored with it. Bored with taking people's feelings into consideration when they don't care about mine. Bored with holding my tongue. Bored with walking on eggshells. Bored with people telling me whats wrong with me. Bored with unproductive critique. Bored with overblown ego and self-important bullshit.

I'm over it, I'm so over it.

So Much More

** see footnote

He says, "God, you're gorgeous."

I was laying on my back with M above me. My bedside lamp cast a flattering glow as we spoke in low tones to each other. I was scrubbed squeaky clean from the day's greasy work. I felt so warm and comfy to have him with me again, and I marveled at how beautiful he is. I'm as loathe to call a man "beautiful" as much as I'm loathe to call a woman "handsome"; both descriptions have the potential to insult. But I'm just gonna say it...He's beautiful.

He's told me, "I love your freckles."

In the summer our skin is almost exactly the same color, but I will soon develop my winter coat and become a pale peach once again. He has freckles across his nose that are faint, and one very deliberately placed on his left eyelid, as well as a patch on his left shoulder blade and a waterfall running down his leg. He has some sprinkled in more intimate places, but the one on his eyelid is my favorite. I kiss it frequently and with relish. In my opinion eyelids are made for kisses to begin with, and his freckle gives me a focus to cherish. I have an urge to name it...maybe Stanley...

He said, "I love the shape of your mouth."

M's mouth I've mentioned before. His lips are luscious, pink, smooth, devoid of blemish or imperfection. His mouth mesmerizes me. Sometimes I drift into a daydream when he speaks to me because I can't take my eyes off of his mouth. And when he smiles his broad open smile, or throws his head back and lets out his unselfconscious laugh, his brilliant teeth flash. Even first thing in the morning his breathe isn't bad. How the fuck does he do that?!!

He tells me, "Your hair looks so pretty down and wavy like that."

His hair is black, not dark brown, but black. And inspires all those hyperbolic descriptions you've read about black hair. It curls into locks that i wrap around my index finger and toy with. It's smooth and glints. It's thick and probably longer than it seems due to the curl. He jokes about having an ironic mullet, but short of shaving it off, I don't care what he does with it. I don't think I'd find him less attractive if he shaved it, but it would just break my heart to not have those sparkling curlie ques to gaze at and play with.

He compliments me, "You have a beautiful, long neck."

He's letting his beard grow in. I was fortunate enough to be spared the scratchy growing in period, and have become the beneficiary of the silky tickling stage. It's a full beard that he doesn't know how long he'll be able to tolerate. It suits him, and oddly doesn't detract from any of his boyishness. I hope he decides to keep it awhile, it holds a novel appeal for me and looks so good on him.

He confesses, "I love when you touch my body."

He has very smooth skin, particularly for a boy. He's tattooed his body with 2 swallows on either side of his chest, just above his collarbone; a red nautical star between the birds; an open zippo lighter on the inside of his left elbow, and the emblem of his former band wrapping from the outside around above and below his left elbow meeting behind the zippo. He shaves his chest pretty frequently, mistakenly thinking he's excessively hairy. Thankfully, he doesn't go overboard, and I can still revel in his undeniable maleness.

He admires, "You have such pretty hands."

M has large, strong hands. He has wide palms that encase my neck. He can cup my entire breast and ass cheek, and I love when he does that. When he curls his fingers around my waist, gripping my hip bone, I melt into the feeling of complete immobility. His fingers almost meet when he encircles my calves, spreading my legs wide as he drills into me. In spite of their size, he's the only guy who's ever gotten as much of his hand in me while fisting. I adore his fingers on my clit, or nipples, or deep inside stroking my g-spot. And when he dips his fingers into the cum he splashes across my body and feeds it to me, I feel like we're performing the end card at the finish of a silent movie. The perfect ending.

** in case anyone was wondering about the integration of music, I intend it to be listened to while you read the post.

Waiting For The Miracle

When I wait for M to arrive I'm usually really antsy. I'm excited, impatient, nervous, and when I'm waiting for him to pick me up from work, irritated also. Not irritated with him, irritated that I have yet to figure out a way to prep for a visit directly following work so that I look pretty and presentable. It's an odd mix of dread at not being attractive and longing for him to appear.

This visit I had about an hour wait at my job before M picked me up. I normally hate the music at work, so I popped my iPod in, and Leonard Cohen's "Waiting for the Miracle" came up on shuffle. It was soothing and, I felt, preternaturally appropriate, so I replayed it over and over as I waited. I closed my eyes and let the words and music lull me.

While I sat there, listening, I thought about how I am always so anxious when I'm about to see M. And how I look forward to the times when we'll be together, and how I hate when we have to part. And I thought to myself that I should be more thankful to have this time before to be able to devote my thoughts to him. I thought, "This is the best part, because the time with him is a blur you will struggle to remember. Your pleasure with him clouds your memories of it later, and when he leaves you you will have so long before you will see him again. You only have a few more minutes before he will be with you and you need to savor the waiting that is short, because the waiting that will happen after will be much, much worse."

It helped to realize that, to have that conversation with myself. Along with the music I was able to decompress from work, and when he arrived I was very happy to see him. The beginning was bittersweet, for reasons other than waiting. When we got back to my place we showered and then cuddled in bed. We fell asleep much earlier than usual, and the next day he dropped me off at work.

And then the waiting begins again...

I Took A Leap In Summer

I took a leap in Summer
With evening as my cover.
I jumped into a moonlit bed,
And then I had a lover.




I flew into the open arms
Of unknown passion blind.
I explored his body greedily
Impatient for all I'd find.




I surrendered breathless kisses
And sighs into the air.
I opened to piercing flesh on flesh
And lay myself out bare.




I ran to have a living dream,
So failed to hear the call.
I took a leap in Summer,
But I fell in Fall.

Never Enough

Have you ever fucked someone over and over, and it just wasn't enough? Have you ever enjoyed someone's touch so much that it only makes you hunger for it more? Ever try to go about your day and be unable to keep flashes of their body, their breathing, their feel from your mind?

I find myself insatiable when it comes to sex with M. One kiss isn't enough, bout after bout of intercourse just makes me want him inside me again. Imagining the things he's done to me make me relive the sensations I felt when they happened. I get wet and my clit tingles at the most inappropriate times. At work today, while on break, I had to resist the urge to play with myself!

Friday night he was fucking me from behind, my ass raised, legs spread wide to allow as much of him into me as possible. It was hurting so deliciously, it was making me blind with with pleasure. He slowed and I heard a soft rumpling coming from behind, and all of a sudden my pillowcase hooded my head. M pulled it tight across my face and resumed fucking me, but even harder. The roughness, the aggression, the loss of sight, the loss of me was so erotic. It's been running through my mind for days...

M knew that I was excited about the election yesterday, and I had asked him if he'd come over after band practice to watch the returns with me. We hadn't spoken of it since I'd asked, so I'd thought he'd forgotten, but at 7 pm yesterday, when he would've been on his way to practice, he called me and said he wanted to come watch the results. I was overjoyed that he would spend such an important event with me, and I said I'd love for him to come over.

He was a little tired, so he cat napped in my lap while I watched the coverage. He looks so handsome when he sleeps, and I stroked his curls while he dozed. He woke up from time to time, checking on the progress of the polls, and I was getting more and more excited with each state. When the announcement was made I literally jumped for joy, clapping my hands like a child. I kissed M over and over, and I was so happy he was here to share that with me.

I had been extremely horny all day, and if the election hadn't been of such importance I do not think I would've been able to wait as long as I did to fuck M. He was so hard when I put my hand on him, I couldn't wait to have him. It's a bit of a blur, by the time I was naked with him I was on fire to fuck. I rode him and he filled me so deeply it took my breathe away. He fucked my ass on my back and choked me, filling me with his cum. Christ, I love that...

I love the intensity of his face when he's fucking me. The fierceness is intimidating, and it makes me feel soft and so very female. His dark eyes focus on me filled with desire. Watching his face contort as he orgasms gives me a feeling I can't adequately describe. It makes me feel powerful and subdued at the same time. And I love cradling him in my arms as he comes out of the daze of pleasure. The weight of his body comforts me, and I think that's when I feel closest to him.

He woke up early to go to work this morning, and I was groggy from sleep as he dressed. He kissed me, and I curled around him as he put his shoes on. He took my face in his hands and kissed me over and over, and I asked if I would see him Friday. He said yes, and I received more kisses before he walked to the door. I blew him a kiss as he closed the door, and snuggled back into my still warm bed smiling and dreaming of having him back in my arms.

GGG

Dan Savage and his readers often use the abbreviation GGG. In his March 1, 2007 column, Savage summarized: "GGG stands for 'good, giving, and game,' which is what we should all strive to be for our sex partners. Think 'good in bed,' 'giving equal time and equal pleasure,' and 'game for anything—within reason.'"
-From the Wikipedia page on "Savage Love"




I think it goes without saying that I'm GGG, and I think you can all infer that M is very GGG, also. Sex is an important part of any relationship that involves it, for me anyway. I can't stay with someone with whom I'm having bad sex. That is not an issue with M, it's "amazing", to quote him, and I agree wholeheartedly. In fact, for me, it's only getting better.

This attribute, being GGG, has the effect of making me a secret keeper. I don't really have secrets personally, not many anyway, and I can't think of any I have about my sexual proclivities. Other people tell me their secrets all the time. I can't tell you how many people have told me something they "never told anyone" or that "no one else knows". People feel like they can tell me things because I won't judge, even if it's pretty bad, and that I will not tell anyone else, even if I get angry with them.

Even though I'm GGG, I still find it hard to ask for things during sex. For some reason it's difficult for me to say "Please grab my breast hard," or "Put your fingers inside of me." I can usually get a "Harder!" or a "Deeper!" out, but that's about the most I can do comfortably. I don't know that it's my submissive nature that makes me not want to give direction, or if it's an uncharacteristic sexual shyness. Either way, it's an obstacle.

M sometimes asks me how I want him to fuck me. It makes me so nervous when he says that. I already have a difficult time verbalizing what I want, but to be asked so directly gets me thinking that I might give the wrong answer. If I said that to M, he would say that there was no wrong answer. That he wants to please me, and that he wants to get better and better, and that he gets off on getting me off. See? GGG. I lucked out this last visit because when he asked, and I couldn't bring myself to answer, he ended up doing precisely what I wanted, but was unable to ask for.

M was taking me from behind, and I remembered what he said about wanting me to finger my ass for him. I hadn't done it yet, and he didn't want to have to tell me to do it. So, I wet 2 fingers on my right hand and reached behind. I slid my hand between us and slowly entered my ass with 1, then 2, fingers. I could sense his ardor increase as he realized what I had done, and he pounded me harder.

I could feel his cock sliding in and out of my cunt thru the flesh separating him from my ass. I pressed down on the shaft of his cock, trying to emphasize that my fingers were inside of myself at the same time he was. I noticed how smooth the inside of my ass was, no ridges or nooks like the inside of my cunt. I loved feeling him moving inside of me with my fingertips. The novelty of that sensation hasn't worn off.

After a while he removed my hand, replaced it with his cock, and began to fuck my ass. For a few minutes we did it doggie style, but eventually he slid out to flip me onto my back. I had said to him earlier in the week that I thought he should fuck my ass with me on my back more, since I have difficulty having him thrusting deeply in that position. I don't know if he was remembering me suggesting it, his reply at the time was that we'd have to work on it, and no time like the present.

M had me hold my legs up and out of the way for him as he re-entered my ass. He leaned forward and kissed me, sliding in and out until he was all the way in. When he sat back and continued, fucking me harder, I spread my legs wider to get as much as I could. That's when he filled my cunt with a finger too, fulfilling my unspoken desire.

M has large hands, and with his cock in my ass, 1 finger was enough to fill me up. It drove me crazy to be doubly penetrated. I stole a glance down, and the visual of him piercing both of my holes simultaneously made me clamp down on both his cock and finger. I reached down to play with my clit, something I rarely do without direct instruction. I hoped it would increase his passion and send me into sensation overload. I wanted everything all at once.

I tensed, and squeezed, and felt my cunt convulsing. My clit burned and I could hardly breathed as I came. I begged him to fuck me deeper as I removed my hands from my clit. He emptied my cunt of his fingers and leaned forward a bit on his hands, hovering just above me. His eyebrows were knit together, and I could tell he was close to orgasm. He was moving faster and deeper inside of me, abandoning the caution he usually takes when he's in my ass.

"Choke me," I breathed, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear. And instantly his hand clamped my throat. He was already on the verge of cumming, and when he squeezed my throat, and with me holding his gaze, he came as hard as I've ever seen him.

He thrust 3 or 4 more times as far in as he could go, and I could feel his cock spasming in me as he collapsed on top of my chest. I brought my hands up around him, one cradling his head to my chest, the other wrapped around his back. His cock, still buried inside of me, continued to twitch, and it took longer than usual for his moans to cease. I held him as his breathing slowly returned to normal, and it was a while before he could speak.

I think we went beyond our normal spectacular sex, as it seemed to take longer for us to recover than usual. For once, I can't really remember what we said to each other. I'm sure it was complimentary to each other, mixed with pleased astonishment. I didn't tell him that I had wanted him to enter my cunt while he was in my ass, but if he couldn't have deduced my enjoyment of it then, he'll know now how much I craved it and love that he's done it.

And so it goes when two GGG's get together. It's a comfort to know that I won't get a quizzical look when I can express my desires. And I won't hear a freaked out voice if I decide to stick 2 fingers in my ass unexpectedly. It is a relief to know that my kinks increase his desire, and curiosity, for adventurous sex. I can only hope that we can continue to expand the breadth of our experiences together, in all ways.

Don't Speak

"Tell me something I don't know," I say. It's a sort of game we'd been playing this visit. I started it, and then he'd ask me. I've been popping it out whenever there's a lull in our conversation. Sometimes it's a goofy answer, sometimes it's something pertinent.

"Hmmmmm. I was chatting online with my ex-girlfriend, the German one, I guess a couple of months ago now. We don't talk much, just when there's a reason to usually. Anyway, she said she would still fuck me, and I said ' Yeah, I don't think that would be a really good idea.' And then she said, 'O! We wouldn't have to talk to each other afterwards.'"

And we both chuckled knowingly.


"But, I already have a person that I sometimes hook up with."

And I knew this; that there was a fuck buddy. I knew there was someone in the ether, a person who gave him pleasure. I knew there was someone other than me. I think I can recall him saying I was better, that fucking me was better.

"When was the last time you fucked?"

And I level my eyes on him. I do not shirk. Courage is what you have in the face of fear, not instead of fear. And, yes, my body hummed with tension. And, yes, my heart raced. And, yes, my mouth was dry. And I think to myself, "Please say 3 months ago. Even better, say 4 months. I can live with 2 months, 2 months would be ok."

"Ummmm, about 2 weeks, a week and a half ago?"

Drop. Sink. Cold. And I feel empty and swollen at the same time. I become consumed with envy and self-loathing. Envy for a nameless, faceless person. Self-loathing because I'm not good enough.

I don't say anything, but he sees it. My face is a stone mask, but he sees the change. He feels the shift. I feel exposed, and I turn my head away. He makes some chit chat about my sneakers, and I'm not terribly responsive. I say I'm ready to leave the restaurant. I wrap my arms around myself, and he reaches out to stroke my side as we walk to the car.

He's uncomfortable, and I feel sorry for him. It's not fair to subject him to my disappointment. He doesn't deserve for me to be upset just for being honest. I asked, after all, and I'm thankful he told me the truth. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that he feels things for me he doesn't.


We drive away, and he continues chatting. I try to participate, but I'm doing a really shitty job of it. I laugh half-heartedly when I'm supposed to, offer directions when he needs to make a turn, answer his direct questions, and stare out of the window. My mind is somewhere else, but I can feel him run his fingers along the side of my leg. And when he places his hand on the top of my thigh, his fingers curling over the curve, the warmth of his palm makes my heart ache.

When we get to my apartment, he tells me he had a good time, and smiles at me. I smile back, and say I had a good time, too. And I mean it, I always have a spectacular time with him.

"See ya," I chirp, insincerely cheerful. With a close lipped smile I turn away, and step out of the car.

"Hey," I hear from the car before I close the door.

"What?" I ask turning back, hand on the door.

"Can I have a kiss?" M asks quietly. So quietly I can't recall if he's said "May I?" or "Please?", but I know he's asked me to kiss him goodbye.

I duck my head back into the car, and I lean in with my eyes closed. I don't look, I just present my face. And I'm thinking, "I'm so ugly, why does he want to kiss me?" I want this kiss more than anything. I war with myself about if it's what I should do, but I know for sure it's what I want.

He brings his perfect mouth to my lips. And he kisses me softly, maybe hesitantly. His tongue slips between his beautiful lips, and runs along the crease of my mouth. I part my lips slowly, and I try to let it reassure me. I try to let his kiss tell me he wants me, let it tell me that he doesn't want me to go away. I feel his hand come up to my throat, and he places it there firmly without squeezing. I stop myself before the sigh escapes.

I don't remember how the kiss ended, I know I didn't want it to, but that it had to at some point. As I again turned away to leave, I let his "Talk to you later," go unanswered before I closed the door and walked away.


I didn't say anything, because I didn't know what to say. I still don't know what to say, or think for that matter. Except, today was the first time I had to correct someone when they referred to M as my boyfriend.

Eavesdropping

"I can tell when you're in that space now."

"Yeah? How can you tell ?"

"You can't look me in the eyes, and your voice goes soft. Like a little girl's. And I can have anything I want from you when you're like that."

"Oh."



....



"I'm going to make you finger your ass for me again, but you're going to get at least 3 fingers in this time. You will do that for me, won't you, pet?"

"Oh my...Now I'm all scared and anxious..."

"As long as you're obedient. That's all I'm concerned with. I'm looking forward to your performance."

"I don't want to let you down. I'll try..."

"You'll please me one way or another, even if I have to take what I want. But if you make me take what I want, I won't be very nice. Here's what I want you to do come Friday: I want you to play with your cunt and make yourself cum, then I want you to finger your ass for me. Are you telling me that those are unreasonable requests?"

"No, I will do that for you."

"Good girl. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."



.....



"I'm feeling so fucking unattractive right now."

"My beautiful little pet... you could never not be attractive to me. I wish you could see yourself how I see you."

Isn't it Romantic

I am inclined to say I don't like "romance". Long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners, red roses, etc. seem to be the universally agreed upon romantic gestures. The sort of things you see in a chick flick rom-com, the types of things girls are supposed to want. Those things seem really contrived to me, not romantic at all.

It might be more honest to say, not that I don't like romance, but that I don't like insincerity. I don't like operating under illusions, and romance seems like a lie to me. I have an active imagination and a rich fantasy life, and as much as I'd like to have my hopes and dreams fulfilled, I don't expect it. It's getting to the point where I'm not even disappointed anymore. It just is.

When I saw M last week, I was in a real funk. I nearly cancelled our visit. Instead, I told him that I would leave my keys in my mailbox, and that I would like if he was there when I got home from work. I said I just wanted to take a shower and then crawl into bed with a beautiful boy. He said he would be there, and he was.

That's romantic.

When I got home that night I was relieved to see M sitting on my bed. I looked like shit, and I felt like shit. I took off my grimy shoes, knelt on the floor beside the bed, and wrapped my arms around his waist. I laid my head down against his warm body, and sighed. He pulled me up to lay on top of him, and I protested that I was too dirty to get on the clean bed and his clean body. He insisted, and I relented.

That's romantic.

He asked if I wanted to shower, and I said yes. He asked if I wanted him to shower with me, and I said it wasn't necessary, that he had obviously showered before he came over. And I felt grungy and ugly, and I slide off of him to go into the bathroom. I undressed and put on my robe. As I walked out of the bathroom to comb my hair, he followed me to my mirror and began to caress me from behind. He opened my robe, ignoring my protests, pushing my hands away, and ran his hands over my naked breasts and into my panties. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass. He was trying to show me he thought I was beautiful, even if I felt like I was a disgusting, greasy mess.

That's romantic.

We showered, and I washed my hair. We dried off, I put my robe back on, and we got into bed. I felt so drained as I smoked my cigarette. I was not being a great hostess, or even good company for that matter. He offered to give me a backrub. I declined, saying it wasn't necessary. Again he insisted, telling me to get on my stomach and to take off my robe completely. He called me "Laani", I think for the first time. He said "O Lanni, you're such a mess," and he said it with so much sympathy as he attempted to ease my tension wracked body.

That's romantic.

Maybe it's because I don't receive backrubs, or maybe it was because he seemed to show so much tenderness, but I couldn't relax. He had to tell me repeatedly to not anticipate what he wanted, but to just relax and go limp. He told me to tell him if he hurt me, saying that this wasn't "play, so it shouldn't hurt." He used my marshmallow lotion, and expressed mild surprise that I have so many sweet, food scented lotions, considering my rather spartan eating habits. I said I like to smell like edible things, that I don't want to smell like flowers. He answered, "I want to smell like you."

That's romantic.

And I don't know why I am so uneasy with his soft words and tenderness, at the same time I crave it. I don't want to foolishly believe it all if it's just "pillow talk". I don't want to delude myself. I want to trust him. I want to believe him. I want to please him. I want him.

Isn't that romantic?

Milk Carton

I've misplaced my "happy place".
I don't remember where I put it.

I'm sure it's around here somewhere...
I'm trying to think of the last time I had it;
Where I saw it last...
I'm always losing the damn thing.

It's small, it could be anywhere...
Slipped between the pages of a book,
Hidden in the folds of my bedsheets,
Tucked behind my spice rack.
Maybe I uploaded it to My Documents.

I don't think anyone stole it...
Hmmmmm, did I lend it to somebody and forgot?
I'm pretty sure everyone I know already has one...

Have you seen my "happy place"?
Can I borrow yours?

Talk Dirty To Me 3

Last night was the monthly meeting of The Erotic Literary Salon, and this time I had to attend all by my lonesome. Devo had a drama erupt prompted by the last salon, so he was letting this one go unattended. I had asked a few people to come with me, but all had prior plans. Astrid was supposed to meet me there, and bring something she wrote to read, but ended up getting embroiled in some drama of her own. M was going to meet me after band practice, but he's been inundated with work, and was feeling too overwhelmed to see me.

I had asked M what he thought I should read, and he had suggested that Lullaby was a good piece. Since I still don't have any ink for my printer I spent 45 minutes writing it out in longhand, editing for time as I went along. Previously M had said that if I sent him an email containing the piece I wanted to read he'd print it out at work for me, but I wasn't going to see him before the salon, so I kicked it old school and busted out the paper and pen.

I showed up a little late, but I barely had time to sit down and order a drink before I was called up to read. I hadn't had as much time as I usually do to review my piece, and do a few run thrus in my head and out loud before I went up. My reading was a less smooth than usual, but it was well received. Susanna, the woman who runs the event, was very happy to see me attending again, and sweetly hugged me before I went up to read.

Afterwards, I chatted with other attendees, and they were very complimentary about the piece, and previous pieces, I'd performed. I might be developing a bit of a fan base, a lady came up to me and told me that I had inspired her after last month's meeting. I gave out my blog's address, and I hope to get feedback from the folks kind enough to poke around here. It's very validating to have what I think of as one of my lesser talents so well received in such a public way.

There were alot of good readings. I was particularly impressed by a writer named Candy. She first attended last month, and the piece she read was very witty and sexy. She has the talent Devo has for injecting humor into an erotic story without taking away from the sexiness. And the piece she read last night, unfortunately I cannot recall the name, was hilarious, sexy, irreverent and satirical. It was an unrepentant "other woman" monologue, and I hope it gets posted somewhere so I can set up a link to it.

It was another wonderful time, but I do wish I hadn't had to go alone. It's much more fun when I get to catch up with Devo during the salon. And it's even more fun when I get to release all that static sexual energy that builds up during the salon with M. The last time we spent the night together after the salon I ejaculated. I'm not sure it had to do with having heard, and read, sexy stories all night, but it couldn't have hurt.

There's always next month, I suppose.

Territorial Pissings

M and I have had discussions about watersports. I had played these games with Daddy before, and M had attempted it with a previous partner. M's experience hadn't proved to be very arousing for him, and he hadn't pursued it further.

I had told him about how Daddy had eased me into it throughout a day, and how it had become a recurring part of our play. I told M how it had made me feel, and that I enjoyed the erotic humiliation. I tried to explain the context in which it took place, and how it could be pleasurable. M was receptive, but felt he had to work up to it. He had laughed that he would probably need to be tipsy to be able to overcome his normal pee-shyness.

M and I were enjoying a few beers during his last visit. He gets adorably chatty when he's tipsy, and I was enjoying hearing him tell me stories and anecdotes interspersed with kisses. We were celebrating his upcoming birthday, and we sat at the kitchen table nibbling on the little cake I had made for him while we talked.

When he stood up to hug and kiss me, I was feeling very warm and mellow. He hadn't had my ass in about a week, and I was looking forward to having all my holes used as we moved to my bed. I was a little less bashful this time when he told me to undress, and I was glad when he let me keep my panties on for a while.

We had been playing on the bed a bit when he got up abruptly and told me to stand up, too. When I was off the bed, he steered me by my upper arms into the bathroom, and I knew what his intentions were, and I felt myself sinking into that soft, submissive place.

I stepped into the tub and knelt down, closing my eyes. I was excited and calm at the same time. I opened my mouth and he laid the head of his cock onto my tongue. And a few seconds later he began to fill my mouth with a stream of piss. It ran down my chin and splashed onto my chest, running in rivers pooling in my lap. He aimed above my mouth, on either side, over my chin, and onto my collarbone.

"Swallow," M instructed, after he had returned to filling my open mouth. I held it on my tongue for a moment, and then gulped it all down. I opened up to take more of him into me, and again he told me to swallow. And for a second time I swallowed a full mouth of piss. I clung to his hips, running my hands along the backs of his thighs. I stole a single look up into his face, and he held my gaze until I returned my attention to just being his toilet, his piss slut, until he was finished. I sucked at his cock, cleaning him off when his bladder had emptied, not wanting the subservience and intimacy I was feeling to end.

M disengaged me from his cock, and stepped out of the tub, telling me to wash off. I turned on the water and began to rinse. I felt how wet I had become from our play, discerning his urine from my own juices. He said to turn on the shower. He stopped me from closing the curtain and pushed the showerhead towards the wall so he could watch me as I cleaned off. I felt selfconcious, but it also felt like I was being cared for. That feeling continued when I was done, and he enveloped me in the towel and dried me off. He'd never done that before, and it made me feel cherished.

When we got back into bed, M noticed that a cut on my hand had re-opened and was bleeding. He went and got a band-aid from my medicine cabinet. When he returned, he took my hand and kissed my cut, telling me "Be more careful." He affixed the bandage, patted my hand tenderly, and admonished me, again, to "Be more careful." It made me feel little and safe.

The next morning I was at the stove making M his breakfast, when he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and literally squeezed the breathe out of me. He held me tightly to his chest and said, "Mine." A warmth spread over me, and I floated away on that single word.

Later, we took a shower, a very long shower. We kissed and fucked and washed each other. In between kisses, we murmured our thoughts about our golden shower experience. He said he enjoyed pissing on his property, and I asked if he liked marking his territory. As an answer, he kissed me deeply, filling me all over again.

69

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The Voice

I think every Dom/me has a Voice with a capital V. Whether it's their normal voice, or a voice they only use on their submissive, it's distinctive and instantly recognizable. It's rarely a raised voice, it doesn't need to be loud. In fact, I find it much more effective when used quietly, even whispered, and in close proximity to the sub. It's low, direct and focused, and it expects to be obeyed.

I think of it like the Voice the Bene Gesserit priestesses use in Dune. Not to get all super-nerd, but I always found that to be the most compelling aspect of their training. When I trained as a Pro Domme, I saw the other Mistresses using what seemed to me to be the Voice on clients. It was instantly familiar to me, and I recognized the power of it immediately.

Daddy would use his voice to command, tease, threaten, instruct, encourage, and discipline me. Sometimes it wasn't even the words he chose, but the tone of his voice that would send the shivers down my spine. All I would have to hear was "Laani..." or "Little girl..." and I could tell if I was in trouble or being praised.

M doesn't like his voice. He says it's nasally, but I like it. I like the awe with which he says "You're so pretty," or "You don't even know how gorgeous you are, do you?" Or the desire that lowers his voice when he says "Take off your clothes." And the soft vulnerability that shades his pleas when I force him to ask for the kinky things he wants me to do to him.

M claims he can't talk dirty. That he can't think of what to say, and that he'd be too embarrassed to say such things. But I don't think it much matters what he says, it's the way he says it that thrills me. I don't care if he whispers, growls, gasps, or murmurs...Just give me that Voice.

Anal Is The New Black

Or maybe I should say anal is the new blowjob. Anal sex just doesn't seem to have the stigma it used to. Maybe it's because homosexuality is, thankfully, not nearly as closeted as it used to be. Or maybe it's because sex in general is a much easier subject to discuss. Or maybe because all those kids that take religion oriented "sex education" about saving yourself for marriage having anal instead of vaginal sex have infiltrated the mainstream. Whatever the reason doesn't really matter. It's "on the menu" now.

M and I regularly have anal sex, as you may have noticed, at least once a week. He's mentioned to me that many girls he's been with weren't into it, and I understand that there's still people that cringe at the thought. It doesn't shock me to hear that as much as the chick he went out with who didn't give blowjobs, that I just can't wrap my brain around. I don't think I'd turn down any sexual activity without at least trying it with a new partner. Maybe something I did with one guy is better with another. I've had some oral sex with guys that was just a waste of time, but with others it's so good I'd do damn near anything for it. So why rule an activity out without giving it a full shot?

I have gay porn to thank for my enjoyment of anal sex. No, it didn't show me how it was done, I knew that already. And, no, it didn't show me that it was a pleasurable experience, I knew that already too. A gay porn star introduced me to the idea of enemas to ensure that it wouldn't be messy. Previous to seeing the documentary I had only had anal sex once, and had lucked out. No mess. But I was always concerned with the possibility of creating one during anal, so I didn't do it. After being exposed to this practical step to avoid the embarrassing mess, I jumped all over it.

I never shirked from the pain. I always rather enjoyed that aspect of anal sex, even before I was ever spanked or got involved with BDSM. Pain is like the salt in sex for me; it makes sex taste more like sex. And anal was a way for me to get a bit of pain without having to express a desire to be choked or smacked.

There are other aspects of anal I enjoy. I like that I can't get pregnant from it. I like how submissive it makes me feel. I like the innate brutality of it. I used to like the kinky nature of it, but that's all but disappeared. But, aside from the the pain, the thing I like most about anal is that I can have M in me from beginning to end.

Maybe I'm Amazed

M and I are snuggling in my bed as the morning light invades my apartment. The night before he had made thorough use of my cunt and mouth; giving me the cum I had been daydreaming of gobbling up. His hands roam over my body and between my thighs while we speak to each other with hushed voices. I'm enjoying the intimacy, and am becoming aroused from the attention his fingers are paying to my clit.

"I told you the other day that I was going to fuck your ass even if you didn't prepare yourself. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, but I can't give myself an enema with you here. It's embarrassing."

"I'd like you to go clean yourself," he says kissing my forehead, "I'm asking you nicely."

"But...it's...embarassing," I whisper breathlessly. His fingertip is slowly and rhythmically stroking my soaked clit as he asks me "nicely" to make my ass ready to get fucked. It arouses me even more to think of what he might do to ask not nicely.

"I want you to go give yourself an enema. That's not a request. Will you do that for me?"

His mouth is so close to my face I can feel his breathe on my skin. My head is swimming, I can't manage to say yes, so I just nod a little bit. He kisses my mouth; running his velvet tongue across my lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs while kissing me, "You're a very good girl."

And he dips his head down between my thighs, spreading my legs open and up, so my ass comes up off of the mattress. His tongue is on my already throbbing clit, and I feel his right index finger slide into my cunt. Then I feel his his left index finger following the right's lead. He stretches my hole open a bit, and I struggle against the mix of pain and vulnerability. He holds me more firmly in place, continuing to keep me open, sucking on my twitching clit, sending searing bolts of lightning through my limbs. I shudder and clamp the walls of my cunt tight around his fingers.

When he releases me I go into the bathroom to administer the enema. When I'm on the toilet I pray he doesn't hear the sounds of my being emptied. Since I usually bathe after enemas, I ask if he would like to join me in the shower. I wash him first, then myself, and when I'm rinsed he lifts my leg up and pushes his cock into me as I cling to his shoulders. He spins me around and takes me from behind up against the wall and I bend over to receive as much of him as I can.

We dry off and climb back into bed, and I become shy about what's to come. He put me on my hands and knees, with a hard slap to my ass for encouragement. He takes my right hand and places it on my right ass cheek.

"Do you know what I want you to do?" he whispers into my ear.

"No," I answer, hoping he won't ask for what I think he will.

"Put your finger into your ass," and he takes my hand again and pours lube onto my fingers.

I'm nervous because I've never fingered my own ass before. It hurts when others do it, but I enjoy being dealt pain. I don't enjoy giving myself pain, however. I enter my ass slowly. He sits directly behind me, and I can feel his eyes on me. His fingers begin stroking my clit again, and again I'm wet from humiliation.

"Put another finger in. I want you to use two," his voice travels from behind me.

I only hesitate for a split second, in for a penny in for a pound, right?

The bed shifts as he gets up onto his knees and enters my cunt. I can feel him through the flesh separating our bodies. I try to visualize what it appears like inside of me, my own fingers filling my ass while M's cock slides in and out of my cunt. I was in awe of the novelty of the sensation.

When he replaced my fingers with his slippery cock, I thought my fingers would have loosened my ass up a bit. I was wrong. It was the same lovely tearing, stretching pain that always occurs when we have anal.

When the initial hurt subsides, I always beg him to fuck me harder and deeper so I can feel the pain again. Sometimes I get the added treat of his hand squeezing my throat, pulling my head back and getting him that much deeper into me. He has told me he enjoys that I do that, that I encourage him to be as fierce and relentless with my ass as he's allowed to be with my cunt or mouth.

When he cums, grunting and cursing, he collapses on top of me. And then he kisses me several times on my mouth. And I ask him if he liked it.

"Sex with you is amazing."

Feed Me

I'm hungry.

I want to swallow him down. I want to feel him thrusting in and out of my mouth, my head filled with the scent him. I crave his hands on the back of my head, fingers entwined in my hair, holding me in place while he fucks my face, forcing his cock down my throat filling my mouth with his cum.

I love when he has me lick the cum from his fingers. When he cums across my chest, dipping his fingers into the droplets that have landed on my nipples or stomach, and feeds them to me. I devour his cum, licking and sucking his fingertips with enthusiasm.

I search my memory for the taste of him. He tastes like salted edamame; mild, tender, with a slightly green quality, and I crave it.

My hunger doesn't lessen after having feasted, my gluttony for his body only increases. I gorge myself, starved for the feel of him. I am insatiable.

Babysteps

"Come here."

M is sitting on the edge of my bed, and I walk slowly over to him. I have a feeling about what he wants, but I push that from my mind as I lean down to kiss his mouth. We kiss slowly and I linger over his cheeks, jawline and neck, attempting to distract him from what I know is coming. His hands go to the button on my jeans, popping it open and then unzipping.

"This is a really short zipper."
"They're super low rise."
"They're about to be even more low rise."

He slides the denim down my legs, and I step out of them with tiny steps so that my legs aren't spread. I'm wearing black , lacy boyshort panties. I'm thankful I wore cute underwear. I always do when I have a date with M, but they have a tendency to come off along with my pants, not giving him an opportunity to see them.

"Take your shirt off."

I hesitate, but not too long. Being topless isn't as difficult as what's to come, so I pull my shirt over my head, but don't toss it aside. I twist the soft jersey in my hands behind my back. I'm beginning to feel that rising anxiety I always have about standing on display. I'm not sure how far he's going to take this, but he knows that I have a desire for this type of play. We've been dabbling in it, and I get the impression he's going to take it a bit further than he has before.

M is running his fingertips up my stomach and over the fronts of my thighs. He trails his hands up my hips, into the curve of my waist, and up the speed bumps of my ribs. He pinches and tweaks my left nipple, and gathers both of my breasts into his hands and massages them, squeezing and crushing the soft flesh. I sigh and try to be still.

I try to be a good girl standing there in my panties. I know that the underwear is going to come off next and all I can think about is how I'll be exposed. My eyes are are shut tight and my head is down. I don't want to see myself. I've brought my hands to the front covering my chest with tightly clenched fists under my chin.

He grabs my hands and pulls them down away from my chest. I resist a little, unwilling to give up the small bit of coverage they afforded me. When he places my wrists at my sides, and uncurls my fingers to lay flat against my hips, I fight the urge to pull them back up.

"Why are your eyes closed?"

I pause, trying to form the words, attempting to articulate what it is I'm feeling, "Because I feel vulnerable."

"You look beautiful."

A warmth spreads over me at the compliment. I need to hear that. I need to hear that I'm pleasing. I need approval. I need to be desired.

"Look at me and take off your panties."

I try to look at him, but I can't. Not while I'm like this. Not when I'm getting naked. I can't even take my panties all the way off. I get as far as mid thigh before the shame overtakes me and I can't go any further. I'm stopped in a bent over position, paralyzed, unable to completely remove them. I don't know how he'll react to this, but I just can't do it.

He stands up and walks behind me. I continue to be frozen in place, my face burning with shame. I know this looks foolish, that I look silly. I force myself to push my panties down a few inches more, but I just can't give them up. I can't relinquish that last vestige of modesty. That's when he pulls them down the rest of the way. And I'm grateful for the rescue at the same time as my humiliation increases.

"Spread your legs."

I don't move an inch.

"Spread your legs."

I move them open a fraction of an inch.

"You can do better than that."

I open a little bit more. But it's not good enough. He kicks my right leg a foot and a half to the right, and before I can adjust to the exposure, he kicks my left foot about a foot to the left. My feet are now much much further apart than I would have ever been able to do on my own.

"Lean over and put your hands on the bed," and I'm happy to be able to hide my face into the down comforter. I quickly bury my face in my hands on the bed, barely caring that this opens my ass for inspection.

I have told him earlier in the evening that I have my period. And in this position it's obvious I have a tampon in. I am completely humiliated thinking of the string that I know is clearly visible. When I feel him opening my ass and slipping his tongue over my hole, all I can think of is that little telltale sign tucked between my pussy lips, and I'm burning with shame.

His fingers run over my clit, and even with the 'pon in I'm completely soaked. My lips are slick with my juices, and I can feel it smeared on the inside of my thighs. I feel that familiar fire running down my legs while he plucks at my hard, wet clit. When I feel him tug on the string, it startles me back into reality.

"Do you want me to take this out, or do you want to do it?"

Oh. My. God. I whimper into my hands, and I am dying, dying, of humiliation. I'm so fucking embarrassed I can't stand it. I squirm and whine, but can't answer him. I can't decide. I don't want to interrupt this scene. I don't want to walk away and go to the bathroom. But I can't imagine him pulling it out. And at the same time I want him to do it. If he was my Dom and wanted to do that, I would let him, of course. And if he's willing to do something so intimate maybe I should let him do it.

It's gross. It's hot. The argument went back and forth in my head.

I don't know how long he waited for my answer. His fingers didn't leave my cunt while the war raged inside my head. He was patient, but it probably became obvious that I wasn't going to be able to make a decision, so he took it upon himself to take action, and removed the impediment.

And, again, I was grateful to him for taking the initiative.

He fucked me like that, leaning on the bed on my elbows. I lifted my ass to his thrusts. I wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to take every inch of him. I wanted to show my gratitude, to show how much I appreciated him taking my choice away, so I could be free to enjoy what he offered.

Later, he told me that he likes the freedom he has with my body. That he's feeling out what it is he wants, and he likes being able to inspect and enjoy my body however he wants. He's so curious about playing, and I think he's beginning to get an inkling of the control that is possible for him to have over my body. And even though he's inexperienced with this type of power, I know he'll be responsible with it. His desire for me to be pleased with our sex is at the heart of his willingness to explore these games.

That's not to say he's only interested because I am, I trust him to not participate in activities with which he's uncomfortable. I'm happy to try whatever strikes his fancy, and I share stories of past experiences to illustrate what's possible. We're slowly, patiently discovering what it is that works for both of us.

Montage

"Hey! Get your tongue outta my butt!" >giggle< "What did you say?" "Get your tongue outta my butt!" "No, this is my butt. "

...

I'm on my hands and knees, with M behind me. My legs are slightly apart, and he's thrusting into me deeply. I'm gasping for air, and it feels like he couldn't be any further into me. But, apparently, it's not deep enough for him. He spreads my legs wider with his knee and smashes my face into the mattress by the back of my neck. And, unbelievably, gets even deeper into me.
Delicious pain.

...

He's fast asleep, cuddled up alongside me. He looks like a dark angel, with his lush mouth slightly open, and that adorable freckle on his eyelid. I'm sitting up, having my last cigarette, enjoying his body curled around mine. I hear his breathing change, and I look down to see his eyes open. He lifts his head up, and appears a bit startled. We're looking into each other's eyes, and I think he's about to tell me about a strange dream he was having. Instead he cradles my face in his hand and gives me a lingering kiss. And then smiling, snuggles closer and promptly falls back to sleep.
Breathtaking.

...

I'm sitting at my computer, and M comes up behind me. He wraps my hair around his hand and tugs my head back, hyper extending my neck. I close my eyes as I feel his other hand grip my throat, and slide down my chest between my breasts. He brings his lips down to my upturned face and kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, biting my bottom lip. And it sinks me into sweet, light subbie space.

...

I'm laying across his chest, looking up into his moonlit face. We're nestled in his bed after an evening of wet, ravenous, insatiable sex. He asks in that rich, sex laden voice of his, "There really isn't anything you wouldn't let me do to you, is there?" His eyes search my face, and I shake my head silently and slowly, no. And he gathers me up tightly into his arms and kisses me.

...

We had plans to meet, but I had no idea when I would get off of work. The restaurant was very busy, and I was kept later than I would have liked. The bus was late. I couldn't call M, because his phone was on the fritz. We had agreed to touch base online when I got home, but he wasn't online. I was so frustrated, with work, with the bus, with trying to get ready to see M, with not knowing if I was even going to see M. I didn't know what to do with myself. And then I heard a knock on my door. When I open it and see M standing there, I'm speechless.
"Hey you. I didn't know if your internet was off or if you just hadn't come home from work yet. I figured I'd just drive over."
He saved me from myself a little bit that night.

...

Talk Dirty To Me 2

Well, I finally made it to another meeting of the Erotic Literary Salon. And, again, it was a great time. I get so giddy when I attend, between the exhibitionist's excitement of reading my filthy writing and the giggling good times Devo and I have when we get together, I can't not have a good time. In addition to the normal fun and games of the evening, I had the added pleasure of knowing that I'd be spending the night with M, christening his new bed.

Before the salon began, a lady spoke about sensuous/sensual experiences. It was informal, and when she asked the crowd to give her some sensual experiences, I said "Eating," which to me is obvious. She asked me what my favorite sensuous thing to eat was, and I said "Cock," which got a laugh. And then I said, "If I were to be completely honest, I would say my current lover's mouth." (M got a real kick out of me saying he was my lover...heh heh) She then asked me to use some words to describe his mouth.

insistent...hungry...searching...exaltant...base...bruising...tender...

Really, I could stare at his mouth all day. I could kiss it for hours. I love when he bites, nibbles, licks, sucks, trails his tongue over me. I love listening to him talk. His voice is like caramel; rich, toasted sugar that flows from his beautiful mouth and washes over me, coating me with thick sensuality....

But I digress...

At the salon I read Bizarre Love Triangle from a previous blog post of mine. It went over really well, and the woman who runs the salon was very happy to see me back. Devo again read something he had written that day, which was hilarious and sexy. I so admire his sense of humor. And just as the salon was ending, M called to say he was on his way back to the city from band practice. Eeeeeexcellent.... :)

Coincidentally, M and I both had an opportunity to introduce friends of ours to each other for the first time last night. M met Devo and Rob when he picked me up from the Salon, and I met M's roommate when he and I got to his place. She said she had heard alot about me, and I answered that I hoped it was "good stuff", and she said "Oh, yes." Hmmmmm, I have to remember to ask M what that "good stuff" is, exactly...

As far as all the lovely, naughty, dirty things M and I did last night...Well, that will have to wait, dear readers. M's bed was thoroughly christened, that much you can be sure of, but I have an entire post formulating about a particular recurrence in our activities lately. So, I will work on that and you'll get all the filthy details soon. :)

Violently Happy

I had a surprise visit from M last night. We hadn't planned on seeing each other; he had promised a friend help in moving. I figured it would take all night, and he would be too tired to see me. I was on the way home from dinner at my sister's house when he called and asked if I wanted him to come over.

Duh.

Fleetingly, I thought of his previous "request" concerning my ass and his next visit. He maintains he wasn't being Dominant when he said he wanted me to be prepared for anal sex when we last saw each other. And since it was getting late, and I didn't want to have to explain to my sister and her boyfriend why I needed to stop at Walgreen's, I shrugged it off. I figured he wouldn't really care either way, he seemed to not expect to be obeyed.

He asked if I'd cleaned myself. I admitted I hadn't, and he asked me if I didn't remember that he had wanted me to be prepared the next time he saw me. I said yes, but that this visit had been unexpected so I hadn't had the chance to prepare.

"Well I think that I should inspect you."

"Nooooooooooooooooooo!" I said trying to scurry away from him, but he grabbed me by my upper arms and pushed my chest down onto the bed. I tried to curl into a ball, tucking my ass under. He delivered a smack sharply to my ass, taking my breathe away. I felt my cheek turn hot where his hand landed, and I raised my butt reluctantly.

When he spread my ass open I wasn't able to maintain the position. I have become unused to being on display, or subjected to inspection. But he wouldn't relent, he wouldn't allow me to hide from him, and every time I tried to to struggle away I was smacked hard and adjusted back into place. He penetrated my ass with his tongue, and I burned with delicious embarrassment.

"Why don't you want me to fuck your ass?" he asked, pressing his mouth to my ear.

"I don't want to be messy," I managed to say, shamed by the inspection and regretting not going to the goddamn drugstore.

"You should have thought about that before."

And he entered me, sliding inside in one smooth, unhesitating stroke. And it hurt. And I cried out, over and over again. And he moaned into my ear, and he sunk his fingers into my hips. And I begged him to fuck me harder, to go deeper. And he choked me, and grunted. And i was stretched, and sore, and my ass burned from the slaps and thrusts. And he filled my ass with cum, and i felt every pulsing shot. And my hair clung to my sweating face, and he collapsed on me, our breathing heavy and jagged.

And I thanked him.

Carte Blanche

M is slowly getting used to the idea that he has the sort of sexual freedom with my body that he's never had with other girls. I can see the Dominant in him peeking out more and more, and he's getting much more comfortable with "forcing" me to do things that please him, but make me "uncomfortable". I've tried to explain the appeal of humiliation and shame, and I think he's beginning to get a handle on it.

He and I were cuddling and I felt his fingers creeping to my ass, and he asked me if anal was "on the menu", inquiring if I'd cleaned myself with an enema. When I replied that I hadn't, he said in a voice expecting obedience that the next time he saw me he wanted me "prepared". It vibrated that sub part of my brain, and it felt so good to have a directive again.

Later that night he told me to stand and undress. And tho I spend most of the time we are together naked, I always feel super self conscious stripping down while someone watches me. I removed my clothes awkwardly and red faced. I turned my head and crossed my arms over my body. He told me to put my hands down, and I naughtily pretended that I misunderstood, and covered my hairless cunt with my hands and used my upper arms to hide my breasts. Of course I wouldn't get away with that, and he instructed me to put my hands at my side and keep them there.

He ran his hands over my body, and I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. When he told me to turn around and I felt his hands on my thighs and ass, I couldn't help but wonder if I was pleasing or if he was judging my body and finding fault. It didn't matter that we have been sleeping with each other for over a month, when I'm exposed and vulnerable in that way, it bubbles up my most prominent insecurities. I tried to control my breathing. I haven't been inspected in so long...

He said the next time He has me undress for him I will have to maintain eye contact the whole time...Sigh...Thrilling shameful humiliating heart racing fear.

Kiss Me

We sat at the bar talking. It was going unbelievably well. First meetings can be filled with awkward silences, and if there had been any, it wouldn't have been unexpected. But there were none. Conversation flowed smoothly, with one story, quip, and anecdote leading into another. He had me laughing to the point of aching cheeks. He complimented me, telling me how pretty I looked, and I blushed. The attraction was growing. I felt flushed and giddy. I could feel my eyes sparkling.

And then, right in the middle of me speaking, he kissed me. Quickly. Sweetly. No tongue. Just a peck, and then he resumed listening to me. But I had lost my train of thought. I blushed again with my eyes downcast; a smile spreading across my face despite myself.

I cannot remember the last time I was kissed with such innocent sexiness. It didn't stay innocent for long, happily, and he has proven to have a sexually aggressive side that I will continue to encourage. But that first tender kiss showed such consideration and promise as to make this cynical and jaded creature begin to believe in possibilities again.

At Least Somebody's Getting Bound

Yeah, that's the hotness right there...

the way he bites his lip before i kiss him

the freckle on his left eyelid

the way he can fuck me over and over again

that he instantly hits my g-spot

that he'll stop in mid sentence to tell me i'm pretty

when he holds my hand

that he tosses me around, flipping me and holding me into position

that he's not afraid to choke me

that he doesn't mind my past

smelling him on me after we part

the excitement i feel when we have a date

when he throws his head back and laughs, bearing his perfect teeth

how he cracks me up, bringing laughter back into my life

his hunger for my body; once i'm naked he wants me to remain naked

the way my heart beats when he looks into my eyes

that he likes my smile (the one i hate)

cuddling that doesn't make me feel suffocated

him pounding me with our mouths pressed so he can feel my screams and moans against his lips

being kissed sweetly and appreciatively before and after he savagely throat fucks me

that he's a bassist

that he appreciates good food

that he's an adorable beer snob

he doesn't mind that i smoke

he's never been married and has no kids

he doesn't think i'm uncool for not having heard of 90% of the bands he mentions (including his)

when he pulls my head back by my hair exposing my throat to kisses and bites

none of the kinky stuff is freaking him out...so far

and that smile...that fucking beautiful smile...

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

This blog will undergo a slight shift. Some regular readers (if I have any of those) may have noticed the capitalization shift, the lack of "Daddy" mentions, and the focus switch from D/s to other kinky things. My sex life will continue to be the focus of this blog; it will just not be exclusively about my D/s with "Daddy".

I hope it will continue to be interesting. Maybe it will invite more readers to participate. Maybe everyone will abandon me. Either way, I just wanted to give everyone a heads up.

I Know What Boys Like...I Know What Guys Want...

and i'm not nearly as likely to give it to them anymore.

***the following may veer into ranting, and does not pertain to my D/s, or Daddy, directly***

i have had it up to here with the boys i spend time with or even come into casual contact with, thinking i should be constantly going out of my way for them.

i was chatting with Ry today online, and mentioned that i had off of work tonight. i told him if he wanted to see me then maybe we could meet up tonight. he responded with "do you want to see me?" ummmm, yeah, that's why i just said that...then i asked him what he wanted to do this evening. and he asks "is there anything you'd like to do?" grrrrrr..."nothing in particular."

And that's when i began to get really fucking irritated. i ask if you wanna hang out, and then i'm supposed to reiterate that i want to hang out? then, i ask what we could do for the evening, and i get "i have to paint the deck of my car". not "we can go to the movies" or "dinner " or anything. And then...then!!!...he tells me to jump in the shower so i can catch the two (2!!!) trains i have to take to get to his place!!

i asked if he was picking me up, and he said it was in the wrong direction from his way home from work. i. am. livid. he's got no idea for anything to do, beyond fucking me, and he wants me to take the trains to see him, with the layover being in Camden, which is consistently at the top of the nation's murder and drug crime rates (i'm talking #1 year in year out). plus! he always wants me to dress up in heels and thigh highs and shit, and then sit there waiting for the next train with the homeless, crackheads, rapists, etc.

but the best part, THE BEST PART, is that recently my girlfriend, Astrid, asked me to move in with her. she's gonna be getting her own place in South Philly, near the Italian Market. it's very tempting, and i told her i'd think about it. i mentioned it to Ry and he bemoaned the fact that he'd never see me. i reminded him it was a 10 minute drive over the bridge, and he could easily take the train if he didn't want to drive. But no, he doesn't like to take the train, and he doesn't want to deal with parking in the city. and these are all very good reasons for me to get a car...and blah blah blah...

GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE! WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS!!??!! DOES HE THINK HE'S SO FUCKING SPECIAL THAT I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL HE WANTS TO SEE ME??!!! HE'S A GOOD LAY, SO THAT MEANS I ALWAYS HAVE TO GO OUT OF MY WAY TO SEE HIM???! I'M A GOOD LAY, TOO! WHY DOESN'T THAT TRANSLATE INTO ME GETTING A RIDE OR DINNER OUT OR SOME-BLOODY-FUCKING THING!!!??? HE'S NOT MY DOMINANT!!

...deep breathes, deep breathes.....

and, ya know, it probably wouldn't be bothering me too much, except that Astrid and i went out this past weekend. we had a great time together, together being the operative word. when i tried to talk to any of the guys, or girls for that matter, i got the most vapid non-conversation. i couldn't believe it! when did people stop bothering to be interesting or funny? i'm standing there being charming, and amusing, and putting my best self forward...and nothing. i'm having a conversation with a wall. one of the guys i met was supposedly a writer, for chrissake! even he couldn't muster an interesting story! i'm not expecting miracles here, just give me something to work with!

i'm completely disgusted. i do not need to work that hard. buying me a drink does not guarantee you my phone number. i'm worth more than that. i'm more valuable than that. i'm not like other girls. and i am not putting up with these...boys...getting the benefit of me without me believing they're worth it. they aren't even trying anymore, and their luck has run out.

Bizarre Love Triangle ...A Cuckold Fantasy

I pull up to the Victorian duplex where my girlfriend lives; parking alongside the curb squeezing into the only open space. It sits on the corner of a dead end little lane and the main street of town. She and 3 friends of hers share the second and third floors of this rundown, creaking dowager of a house. It appeals to their starving artist boho aesthetic to live in decadent squalor.

The owner/landlord, Anthony, lives in the first floor apartment, and the parking spot I've secured is right outside his brightly lit kitchen. As I turn off the engine I look into his kitchen window and see he has company. He's sharing a beer with a friend of his, Bobby, whom I've met before. They sit at the kitchen table, but are not talking to each other, they're laughing at something on the other side of the kitchen that i can't see from my vantage point.

I'm about to get out of the car when i see who they've been listening to. My girlfriend steps into the space framed by the window. They must have invited her spur of the moment because her hair is thrown up into a ponytail, and she's wearing her "hanging around the apartment clothes"; a white wife beater and a pair of my boxers. Even from the street I can see her braless nipples through the thin material.

She walks towards the table where Anthony and Bobby are sitting, moving her hands to illustrate her story. When she reaches the table her back is towards me, and she comes to the punchline of her story, throwing her head back and laughing. She doesn't see the look the two friends give each other as they join in her amusement with an amusement that has nothing to do with the tale she's regaled them with. Their eyes are devouring her body, and I can see that they're practically twisting in their chairs.

Anthony gains a bit of courage and reaches out for her waist, scoots his chair back from the table, and pulls her onto his lap. It's meant to be friendly and playful on the surface, but the way he crooks his arm around her hip once she's settled on top of him is far from platonic. Bobby starts telling his own story, but from the way Anthony's fingers are sliding up and down my girlfriend's thighs i doubt he's even listening.

Anthony's other hand slips up her waist and settles on her ribcage just under her left breast, and he whispers something into her ear. Smiling broadly, my girlfriend twists in Anthony's lap to face Bobby, and spreads her thighs. Bobby stops telling his story and watches as Anthony's right hand disappears up the leg of my girlfriend's boxer shorts, while his left hand cups her breast tugging her nipples through the fabric with his thumb and forefinger.

I can feel the familiar tingling spread through my cock as I watch. Heat runs down the length of my shaft, and I press my hand over my jeans at the growing stiffness. Now I'm shifting in my seat, looking to see if there's anyone around to catch me if I were to take it out. The house is on the outer edge of town, but it's summer and people like to hang out on their porches and go for walks around here. For the moment I content myself with unbuttoning and unzipping, but don't pull my cock out...yet.

In the few moments my attention was distracted my girlfriend's top has been pushed up over her tits, and Anthony's right hand is now pushed down the waistband of her boxers. Her eyes are closed with the back of her head on Anthony's shoulder, face pointed to the ceiling, her hands gripping the sides of his hips. Bobby has leaned in closer paying rapt attention to the show. The table's in the way, so I can't tell if Bobby has his cock out, but his shoulder is moving in a distinctive back and forth motion.

When Anthony stands her up and pulls off her boxers I can't resist any longer, and dig my cock out of my pants. I can feel my pulse pounding against my damp palms, and I squeeze the base of my cock, twisting my wrist and relishing that first tight stroke. Anthony bends my girlfriend over and she supports herself on her elbows, left foot on the floor, right leg bent across the table. Her chest hovers over the edge with her mouth inches away from Bobby's crotch. I can't see if she's wet, but I know she wants to get fucked when she wiggles her ass in Anthony's direction.

My breathing is rugged watching my girlfriend get double stuffed. I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin with lust. My entire body is tensed, poised to erupt. Jealousy, desire, and voyeuristic fascination combine to become a hunger for her I have never felt before.

That whore, that insatiable slut! So hungry for cock. Is that what she needs? A cock in every hole? I'll fuck you slut, I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk the next day. I'll tear you. I'll bruise you. You want it in your ass don't you? You filthy slut, you fucking filthy slut. I'll give you meat for that hungry cunt! You're gonna be raw. You're gonna hurt. You're gonna FEEL THIS! Is that too much for you, little slut? You can't take it? You're gonna take it! Take it, take it, TAKE IT!

I Try

Daddy has been unbelievably busy as of late. He's amassing a vast empire in his field, and it's requiring alot of his attention. He's making large strides, and as much as i miss him, i'm really happy to see his ambitions coming to fruition. It's awesome in its most literal meaning.

That's not to say that i didn't feel the strain of his absence. It's been difficult to deal with the coldness and reserve that is Daddy's natural personality which only becomes more austere when read in infrequent text messages, i.m. chats, and the even rarer email. This can be particularly difficult when it isn't tempered with visits that reassure me that he does want me, like me, occasionally spares a thought for me, and doesn't just want to be rid of me. my natural insecurities made me think all sorts of dire scenarios.

And, at the same time, i knew he was busy. Very, very busy. And i kept my growing concerns to myself, and attempted to distract myself. i hung out with Ry a coupla times, worked alot, and developed a new craft project for myself. Still, i was miserable.

i am loathe to bother Daddy with every little apprehension that enters into my head. i am acutely aware of his...constraints...in even the most permissive of situations. More often than not, any anxiety on my part dissipates when i spend a bit of time with him. Daddy makes it allllll better...lol

But i was hesitating to talk to him about this. He's not particularly fond of confrontation, and i didn't want him to think i wasn't understanding the pressure and immediacy all of his projects require. i didn't want to sound whiny or naggy. Daddy would react to that by shutting down, and it wouldn't be a proper representation of what i was going through anyway. Knowing how to talk to Daddy may be one of my most useful skills.

There were some false starts, a bit of misunderstanding, then some clarification, some reminding of "understandings", and then resolution. Yeah! Viva la Resolution! lol

Daddy said he would keep in mind that while i completely understand about his time constraints, and that i feel that i.m.-ing and texts are certainly a viable, albeit limited, substitute for actual visits, i would feel infinitely better about being apart so much if he remembered to treat me sweetly. i had been missing the "princess"s and the "wink" and "smile" emoticons. i know it may sound trivial, but i needed him to say i was good. i needed some validation.

And what a difference in my outlook when he finally told me he thought that i was being very good. That i was being a patient girl, and that was what he needed right now. That he still wanted to play with me, tho there really wouldn't be time for that for a while. D/s requires time, and time is at a premium for Daddy, and i'm willing to forgo the hardcore D/s "scening".

i commented on how "easy" i am, and Daddy agreed. There are few subbies who would be happy with as little attention as i'm paid. And i am happy. Especially when the attention i do receive is praise and appreciation for my patience and "good"-ness. And with the possibility of seeing Daddy in the near future, there may even be some hot material to report... ;)

Fingers crossed! :)

Something in the Way

i havn't been able to post recently, for many reasons, not the least of which was because my internet was off for a while. i have it turned on again, but i can't guarentee how much posting i'll be doing. i'm playing it by ear.

i missed the second literary salon because i had to work. D told me that i was definitely missed. Everyone was asking him where i was, and they told him to tell me that they hope i'll be back for the next one. From now on i'll be requesting that day off. i didn't this month only because i don't usually work tuesdays, but my position has changed, therefore so have my hours. Apparently one of the selections read that evening was even dedicated to me...an excerpt from "American Psycho", a book, unbeknownest to the reader, that i enjoy very much.

i saw Daddy last week. i was beaten with various implements. Not for punishment, just for play. It was fun to be beaten again, and when Daddy gave me the choice of implements to be used on me, i ended up choosing the ones He wanted to use.

One of the implements was the sensory deprivation hood. Subspace, wine, and time have blurred my recall of the experience, but i can say with certainty i enjoyed it.

i hope that Daddy will have me for more fun and games soon. And i hope that i can have more comprehensive memories of that time.

Serge Gainsbourg - Lemon Incest

Astrid brought this song to my attention while we still worked at the dungeon. She knew i would enjoy the unsubtle incest theme. Plus she knew i'm a Leonard Cohen fan, and Serge Gainsbourg has been referred to as the "Leonard Cohen of France".

The song is a duet between Serge and his real-life daughter, Charlotte. It's in French, but the vid is hot, in a pretentious, artsy, French, 80's sort of way. i took some time to translate the lyrics. Give it a listen...:)

(Charlotte sings....)

Inceste de citron...Lemon incest

I love you, love you

Love you more than anything

Papa, Papa

(Serge sings)

Naïve like a Nierdoi Saurou* painting

Your kisses are so sweet

Inceste de citron...Lemon incest
I love you, love you
Love you more than anything
Papa, Papa

The love that we'll never make together

Is the most beautiful, rare, the most troubling

The purest, most intoxicating

Exquisite outline

Delicious child

My flesh and blood

Oh my baby, my soul

Inceste de citron...Lemon incest

I love you, love you

Love you more than anything

Papa, Papa

...Repeat...

*The "Nierdoi Saurou" painting alluded to is believed to be an example of Gainsbourg's frequent puns, referring to the painter "Douanier" Henri Rousseau, who is a prominent "niave", or in the U.S. "primitive", painter. Serge is saying Charlotte is as "untaught" as an unschooled artist, at the same time he's implying she has "natural talent". Get it? Fucking hot...



Serge is known for having a biting sense of humor, a love for plays on words, and a penchant for giving "the powers that be" the finger. If your a regular viewer of VH1, then you may have seen a clip of him saying on a French talk show, of which Whitney Houston was also a guest, that he'd "like to fuck" Ms. Houston...to her embarrassed glee. If i'd been her i woulda jumped all over that offer...

Anyway, about the song. Yes, the subject of incestuous contact is the pervasive theme. And, yes, the duet is real life father and daughter. However, it states, explicitly, that they won't be doing anything about the physical attraction they have for each other, at the same time they acknowledge that it exists parallel to the more acceptable parent/child love they also share.

i can't help but admire the affection Serge has for Charlotte, and the songs he's written to illuminate the complicated feelings a Daddy feels for His little girl.

Bigmouth Strikes Again

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Talk Dirty To Me

i took a big leap the other night. i read a piece of erotica i wrote in front of a bar full of people at the inaugural Erotic Literary Salon. It was a wonderful time, and a nice sized crowd, especially when you consider it was the debut and on a Tuesday!

i wasn't sure i was going to actually read at the salon, or that i would read something i wrote. People were invited to read either their own work or another author's. i vacillated between going or not going for days, and changed my mind on Tuesday at least 3 times. i had contacted some writer friends to go with me, but until Tuesday afternoon i hadn't heard back from them. When my friend D called to tell me he had written something that day for the salon, i made my final decision to attend.

i spent some time chatting online with Ry that day. Ry was encouraging me to blow off the salon because he wanted me to visit with him that night. Daddy had been kind enough to pick out a story for me to read, per my request, and Ry asked me to email him what i intended to read. Ry didn't think the story was very good, i believe the phrase "Penthouse letter" was used to describe it. i wrote it for Daddy in one of the earliest posts on the private blog, and i admit it's not the greatest thing ever written, but i was truly hurt by his "critique".

i really wanted to read the story Daddy had picked out, and i thought that if i did a little re-wording i might be able to improve it a bit before showtime. i began writing it out (i really need to get some ink for my printer), and i realized it was pretty long. i was definitely going to attend the salon, but i hadn't decided whether to read or not, and i didn't want to invest in a story that took alot of time to recite. i decided to copy down a shorter piece, more of a "scene" than a complete story. i also copied out a little 4 line poem i wrote a long, long time ago.

These are the original works i read:

I want hot cinnamon kisses
Sprinkled down my back
Some sweet pepper smack
And a handprint on my ass

i'm playing with my pussy on my father's bed. i have found his porn and toy stash, and i have been cumming for the last hour. The magazines are spread around me and there is a video playing soundlessly on the TV. The hard, red plastic vibrator has been in my cunt and, slowly, inserted into my ass, with no real effect. It was quickly discarded. my fingers are pressed to my soaking wet clit, my ass moving up and down, grinding another orgasm out of my exhausted body. i am sweating, the heat of my body radiating from me, steaming the sheets and pillows. my eyes are squeezed shut, my brow is furrowed, i am about to go over the edge yet again.

i want my father to find me like this. Cumming on his bed. Panting and flushed after imagining him fucking me. i want him to become aroused at the sight of my thighs slick with my own fuck. my cramped glistening fingers curled up on the pillow beside my head. i want him to see between my legs, my still pulsing clit, shuddering under his gaze. i want him to touch me there. He'll wet himself with the juices of my cunt, and straddle me. He will press his cock against my breastbone and gather my tits together. He will fuck me that way, the head of his cock popping into my mouth with every thrust. And when he cums it will be in my hair, splashed across my tits, pooling in the hollow of my throat.

i will be used. i will be desirable. i will arouse. i will be wanted.

i also chose 2 books to read excerpts from; Beauty's Punishment and Topping from Below. The bit from Topping was a description of the main character fucking a dog, and the bit from Beauty was Soldier's Night at the Inn which is a gangbang scene. i chose them for their shock value, and because i wanted to establish right away that there would be no "taboo" topics at the salon. i wanted to establish a precedent for raunchy, filthy extremes, because that's what turns me on, and that's what i write.

When i got to the lounge where the reading was being held, i was asked to sign up to read out loud. There were two bags, one for reading original works and one for reading someone else's. On a slip of paper you were to write your name, the title of the piece, and whether it was "edgy" or "romantic". For all of my submissions (lol) i wrote "edgy" and underlined it with exclamation points. At least they couldn't say they weren't warned...

D arrived a few minutes after me, and we had a cigarette and caught up with each other's lives. The organizer of the event gave a little introductory speech, and introduced a 90-something year old woman who read a short piece she had written. It was very, very cool. She wrote about how she spotted this old guy at her retirement community pool, and their subsequent sex. After she was done reading she gave us the additional information that the sex she had described took place on their first date! Kick ass lady!

Then she started pulling names out of the hat...and guess who's name was chosen first. Yup, me, the big scardey cat who didn't even know if she'd read. And it was from the original works bag, too. i started shaking the minute i heard my name. my heart was racing, and my palms were wet. i'm sure i was flushed from head to toe. i was offered the chance to not go first, but i said i'd do it. i felt lucky and honored, and if i was gonna do it, i was gonna do it, and the only way to do something like that is to just jump into the deep end.

i put the mic on the mic stand with a joke about needing "both hands free", which got a laugh, thank god. The paper was shaking in my hands, and i hoped the audience wasn't noticing. i opened up with the "hot cinnamon kisses" bit, and everyone clapped politely.

Since we had a 5 minute limit, and i was up there already, i read the "father's bed" piece, too. After the first line there was a bit of a murmur, and then absolute silence. i didn't even hear people drinking, no one moved. i read calmly, but with inflection and conviction. i didn't want anyone to think i was ashamed of what i was reading, or that i was in a rush to get through it.

And when i was done, they cheered. i couldn't believe it. They liked it! i mean really liked it. Not polite clapping with accompanying murmurs of snide remarks, but actually enjoyed what i had written. i smiled and giggled back to my seat, and grabbed D's hand to calm myself. i was still shaking, giddy and full of adrenaline when the next person went up. i could barely calm down enough to pay attention to what she was saying.

Eventually i chilled out a bit, and i was able to enjoy the other readers. There was a good combination of original and published works. Another girl read from her own stuff, but i didn't find it very titillating. It was too flowery and obscure for me. i couldn't understand what it was she was describing. Maybe i'm too literal minded for all that. D read his pieces, too, and they were awesome. i knew they would be, tho. He's a really good writer, and he's great at incorporating humor into his pieces without detracting from the sexiness.

Halfway thru there was a break, and all of a sudden D and i were surrounded by people! They were telling us how good they thought our stuff was, and we were asked for our email addresses to join groups. One of the women helping the organizer thanked me for going first, and told me how great she thought i did. i was just shocked, completely shocked. All these people vying for our attention, and telling us how wonderful we were, it was damn heady. i was so flattered, and i got giddy all over again. i am so not poised! lol

D told me how impressed he was with what i had written. He knows how i struggle with writing and that i don't think its particularly good. He says i need to get over my insecurities, and that he wasn't exactly shocked by how good my writing was, but that he was surprised by how well i've progressed since he last heard any of my writing. And believe me, if it was crap he'd say so. lol

After the break there were a few more readers, chosen at random, and then the last name was drawn from the published author bag. Yup, me again. i bookended the event! i read the dog fucking excerpt from Topping first. It opens benignly enough, but the fourth line is "Having sex with the dog was different than i thought it would be," and there were a few gasps and a second of murmuring. But i didn't pause. i kept on reading completely unashamed, and they were absolutely silent again. i had them in the palm of my hand, they were motionless the entire piece. And they loved it, just absolutely loved me going there.

Next i read the chapter from Beauty entitled Soldiers Night at the Inn. It took me a second to find the part i wanted to begin with, the good parts. ;) i read this piece a bit more light heartedly, it sort of lends itself to that. i wanted to give everyone a bit of a respite after the intense taboo of the the dog fucking account i had just read. It was a hit, but can you really go wrong with the Sleeping Beauty Chronicles? ;)

After i read the salon was over, and everyone swarmed D and me again. This time the organizer came over and introduced herself. She was so happy with me. She said that she was so pleased i had read such extreme material, that she had hoped someone would have the courage to do that, and that she had intended for the salon to be a place where people could read things like that. She spoke with D and i for quite a while, and made sure that we would come back for the next salon. D and i have decided to make it a regular monthly date for us, and i look forward to reading even more outrageous writings.

Everyone was very respectful to the readers, but i have to say, when i got up there you could hear a pin drop. Now, since i was first, i could understand that, but by the time i read the published works i felt like they were trusting me to give them something good, something worthwhile. i can't tell you how thrilling and validating that was. i had forgotten what a rush performing is, and to have my own writing so well received was unexpected.

i wished Daddy had been there to see it. i have Him to thank for being the inspiration for my erotic writings. i had written things for boyfriends before, but they never commented about what i had written. my Daddy has always been very encouraging of my writing in general, and very complimentary of my erotica in particular. i know it was me getting all the praise and adulation, but it wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Daddy. i would've loved for Him to see how well received what i had written for Him was. i never considered reading these things out loud and in public, tho i have posted some of them here.

i would also like to thank you guys for all the encouragement and appreciation you have expressed for my original erotic works. i would also like to particularly thank lg, who was probably the first reader to express an interest in my writing, and a desire to hear more. Thank you all, i can't tell you how much your comments encouraged me to be able to participate in the salon.

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