Thursday, October 30, 2008

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."

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

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?

Monday, October 27, 2008

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?

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

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.

Monday, October 20, 2008

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.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

69

I am not a fan of the 69 position. My general theory of it is that even when you win, you lose. If I'm performing oral as well as I should be, then he shouldn't be able to perform it on me, and vice versa. I find it insulting if he has the presence of mind to lick my clit well, and if I'm giving head well, that means I'm getting eaten out half assed. And I hate lazy oral.

Plus, the angle is all wrong. Most guys can't give good head in even the most advantageous of positions, nevermind attempting to do it backwards and/or upside down. Ugh, and I hate climbing on top and straddling a guy's face. I feel so conspicuous and awkward! And then there's torso length to take into account. So, 69 is a headache I can do without...


Yeah, so the other day I had a mindblowing orgasm during 69.


M has said I am "allowed to be selfish" during our sex. To which I reply, "Uh, I don't know how to do that." And I don't, not if I actually enjoy the person I'm fucking. I can take what I want from someone I'm not interested in, but if I care for someone, I'm giving it all every time. In addition to that, it's a point of pride for me. Needless to say, I hadn't really taken him up on his generous offer.

Fast forward to our last visit, and I'm on my back, head hanging off of the side of the bed, sucking his delicious cock. My right hand is alternating between cupping and stroking his balls; running my finger along the divide between the two. I gently tug and caress while my left hand grips his ass urging him deeper down my throat. I feel his hand slide down my stomach to my cunt. He wets his fingers with my juices and rolls my clit under his fingertips, making me moan around his cock.

I'm trying to breathe without letting up on the slippery blowjob I'm giving him (there's that pride), and I'm doing pretty well until he pulls me up by my ass cheeks and folds me in half. My knees are up by my underarms and his arm are hooked over my inner thighs, and with his hips still pressing down into my face, I was completely pinned down. I couldn't even wriggle.

Dear readers, I tried. At first I was able to maintain my rhythm, slurping away, groaning with each breathe. But I had to give it up, I just couldn't do it. It felt too good. He opened my cunt with his index fingers again, stretching me slightly without giving me the satisfaction of thrusting penetration. That burning, electricity shot through me.

My legs twitched and I didn't care. I was in a ridiculous position, and I didn't care. I couldn't perform a blowjob satisfactorily, and I didn't care. I was making the most outrageous sounds, and I didn't care. I came selfishly, and I didn't care.


I've never experienced apathy with so much feeling.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

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.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

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.

Monday, October 6, 2008

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."

Friday, October 3, 2008

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.