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Mossy Peaks

♦ I originally took this mossy picture using Instagram, but then it turned out that Instagram doesn’t like tits. Or really very much that implies sexuality, though they’ve yet to take down any of my sex toy photos or cleavage shots, which is something.

Anyway, you lot are an audience who I think will appreciate this picture as it’s intended. So, here you are, the mossy peaks of my breasts as shown in my new green lace camisole thingy.

Mossy Peaks - lace and boobs

Green is Crush’s favourite colour, so I had to get this even though I wouldn’t usually pick this sort of mossy khaki green for lingerie. And it’s come in handy, too. I wore it under a khaki jacket and my Bill from Left 4 Dead cosplay beret, with a brown leather skirt. Then I gave Private Crush a lovely bit of military justice for being a bad, bad boy.

It worked rather well! We got along just swimmingly. Do you think you and Sgt Blacksilk would get along? ♦

Wicked Wednesday

Tools of the Trade

♦ Today, Crush and I had a lot of fun. I’m not going to go into a lot of details, I think I might leave those to your imagination. But what I will show you this Sinful Sunday are the tools of the trade I used to inflict such deliciousness on both him and myself. The black handcuffs (very similar to these) were there to restrain him, the key to set him free. The ceramic dildo, the Lovemoiselle Aveline which you can see covered in my slickness here, was used on myself to great effect. It’s such a fantastic dildo and I’m always impressed at the sheer speed with which it gets me off. I teased Crush by using it on myself while all he could do was lie there tied up and pawing at my nipples.

Tools of the Trade: handcuffs and ceramic dildo

I used the Tantus C-ring cock ring (in gorgeous cherry) over his cock, more to pull him about than to really keep him hard and begging as he was already very good at both of those. The Leather Delights soft ballgag was placed gently in his mouth under my full-face hood (not shown), which was used with a blindfold to keep Crush in the dark while I tormented him. As for my very favourite vibrator, the We-Vibe Tango, well, Crush again got to hear me moan and come, both with and without his hungry, lustful input.

Tools of the Trade: ball gag, vibrator and cock ring

I also used various other, not-pictured sensation tools such as a feather stick, a strip of vintage fur, my seven-pinwheel Wartenberg wheel, the edge of a credit card to give him various sensations all over his filthy, sexy body while he was at my mercy. Not only that, but I even managed to give my new Tantus Cush a trial-run to kickstart my testing of it for an upcoming review, so the session was practical as well as just absolutely orgasmically erotic.

I teased him, tortured him, told him what to do, denied him my body, made him beg, made him plead, made him fuck me until I was done. I ordered him around and we both loved it. The tools of the trade pictured here were all immensely helpful in achieving what I wanted, but I think that what really made it all work is that deep inside this sub, there is a dom waiting to get out. And deep inside Crush’s dom heart there is a sub who likes, if not pain and punishment like I do, then being told what to do and not always getting what he wants. The tools of the trade give me, well, the tools, but it’s me that has the power, not my equipment.

What are your favourite tools of the trade? Which do you love most to use on someone or have used on you? Would you feel complete without them? ♦

Sinful Sunday

“Objectification” by Blacksilk

So, if you’ve read my latest blog post, the first one ever written by my beautiful partner Crush (and if you haven’t, do, this will make slightly more sense), you’ll have realised that I found myself entering a singularly unusual sexy situation just the other evening. I came home and up the stairs to Crush’s room, opening the door to a strange, but undoubtedly erotic, sight. Sprawled on the bed was Crush, strapped by his ankles and wrists to the under-the-bed restraints, wearing his sexy green shirt open to reveal his chest. He was wearing his jeans, but they were pushed down to his knees. He was bare from his knees right up to his neck.

But I didn’t get to see everything. Oh, no. His head was covered by what turned out to be a cider box, it’s side covered in white paper on which was drawn a head with a question mark for a face. Covering his cock was a homemade cardboard “Censored” bar that obscured what I assumed was his erection. A new vase of flowers stood on the chest of drawers and four red ones had been plucked from it and draped across his legs artfully. The computer screen showed a fantastic, and sarcastic, mini-essay about gender and objectification. Crush’s words explain this whole set-up best.

Nonetheless, a picture does speak a thousand words…

Objectified Crush

I was… well, flabbergasted. I’m not often lost for words of any kind. This left me speechless in surprise, shock… I was assailed by both the fact that Crush had planned something elaborate and thoughtful for me but also by the absolute absurdity and weirdness of the situation. I flailed helplessly for a moment before Crush drew my attention to my camera sat on his desk. I knew I had to take advantage of the situation. I stripped off my clothes and spent a few minutes restraining myself from touching him, taking photos of his beautiful body and his strange… art installation? I knew that once we really got started, none of this would go back the way it was.

Putting the camera down, I removed the flowers from Crush’s legs and put all but one of them back in the vase. I sat down next to him on the bed, naked, and began to run the petals of the flower head over his exposed skin. I trailed the flower over his chest, his arms, his thighs, then excruciatingly slowly up the length of his cock from base to tip. He sighed and I took to varying the sensations over his body: the edge of the petals, the face of the flower, the tip of the stalk. Each of them trailed over his flesh and teased his nerve endings. He couldn’t see except for a crack at the base of his head-box, which helped magnify the strange sensations.

I was peppering my exploration of his body with frequent spluttering cries of “You are actually mad, you know that?”, “I love you!” and “What on Earth possessed you?”. He explained a bit more of his thinking behind it all and mentioned in passing that the particular feminist he’d been reading had said something along the lines of that it was possible for women to objectify men but that it meant that they were basically really men and vice versa. My gender-bending kink pricked its ears up at this point.

“So, that means I’m a guy….” I said.

I know that genderfuck doesn’t really do it for Crush and that he still finds the whole idea a bit out of his comfort zone, but I was pleased to hear him reply so positively. Then he said a word that sent an honest-to-God jolt through my pussy and up into my brain.

“Master,” he called me.

I couldn’t even tell you why that did it for me or why that thought still does it for me. It’s something I feel rather than think. I like to analyse my kinks, of course, because it’s interesting; I’m just not very good at it.

Nonetheless, the word “Master” coursed through my body in a way it never has when I’ve said it in submission to a man. It was true arousal, devoid of thought, a direct line to my body. I grinned and he said it again. The rest of the evening, in fact, was spattered with it.

I removed his homemade “Censored” bar and took him in my mouth. I might have been nominally in control, Crush might have been wanting me to take the lead, but I still wanted to give him pleasure. That and the fact that he’d done this all for me, the fact that chemistry was powering my mostly-a-sub body more than intellect or emotion, meant that I was finding it hard to be anything other than pliant and grateful. But I love to suck him. His cock tastes beautiful, feels wonderful in my mouth and smells so good to me. His come, I’ll be honest, I can take or leave. But his cock…

Not too long in, I had a better idea. Sucking Crush’s cock was fun, but I wanted to tease and torture him at the same time. I straddled his chest facing his feet, took my beloved Tango vibrator from the bedside and placed it, buzzing, between my pussy lips. It nestled helpfully between my body and his, pinned by his taut chest and my folds, as I leant forward to suck him again.

It wasn’t the easiest of positions, let me tell you. I was awkwardly placed to keep hold of his cock as I needed my hands to prop my body up on all fours. When I shifted position, the Tango would sometimes move about and once made a beeline up Crush’s chest to rumble by his collarbone. But it was worth it when I moaned hard around his cock and came, shuddering, on top of him, my pussy mere inches from his obscured face.

I wanted him inside me and he readily agreed. He suggested I stay facing his feet and give reverse cowgirl a go, something we’ve never tried before. Again, it turned out not to be the easiest task, but to be worth it. I falteringly guided him inside me as I straddled him around the hips and called him my bitch. My slut. He called me his Master.

Objectification Head Box

He could still peek out of the bottom of his box and I wondered briefly what the view, if really any, was like for him. It was a much more awkward position for me and for the ease of thrusting/riding than the usual girl-on-top, but the novelty (and the vibrator I held to my clit) made up for that. Adventure, after all, is exciting. Trying something new together, whether a resounding success or just a new sensation, is a wonderful experience. Whilst it’s not a position we’ll go back to regularly, the discovery was wonderful.

I dismounted and turned to face him, adding some lube to his cock for an effortless re-entry. This time, I’d go for “normal” cowgirl. It was just too hard to let go and come when I was in the other, more awkward, position. When it suited me, I pulled the cardboard box from his head, leaving him blinking up at me in the bright light of the bedroom. I know he loves to see me anew after being deprived. He started to up the frequency of his dirty comments to me and I lapped them up, asking for more, more, more. I bounced on his cock and he thrust up into me, making himself mine with every one of his utterances, giving himself to me with his body. Before long I was asking from one phrase and one phrase only, on repeat, as I climbed towards my summit.

“Please come, Master.”

He begged, he pleaded with those words. I shook, the Tango still at my clit, the sweat coating my skin, my knees weak with exertion. And I came. I came perhaps as hard as I’ve ever come. I talk big sometimes with metaphors and similes and rhetoric, I write my orgasms as storms and bullies and destruction. This was cataclysm. When it finished, I could barely speak, barely move, barely think. My body could support myself no longer and I let myself tumble sideways from Crush’s body. I fumbled, dumb, a zombie, at his nearest wrist strap, releasing him from his bonds and told him to fuck me again. I demanded that he take me as I recovered on my back.

And he did. His cock slid inside my honestly quite battered pussy, my pleasure-weakened body. This fuck was for him. His time to come. I told him as much and he certainly didn’t hold back. His Master spoke firmly to her little slut, goading him, urging him on until he too came hard, gasping, panting.

He collapsed onto me and we athletes rested our tired, hot, sticky bodies in each others’ arms. And I’ll tell you something: as they say “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like.”

And Crush’s exhibition was certainly a resounding, earth-shattering, love-tempering success. ♦

“Objectification” by Crush

This post marks the first (but hopefully not last) instance of Crush, my gorgeous boyfriend, writing on my blog! Hooray! He explains the set-up that lead to a noteworthy encounter between us recently. And now, over to him…

♦ So where to start this story, I guess I should start with Monday, where Blacksilk and I were talking. She’d just finished her glass-to-arse session and we’d done all that mundane life stuff, so were getting an early night. Blacksilk, not for the first time, raised the topic of my penis and how the online world was sorely lacking in its finery, having already got the rest of me. Sorry to disappoint all my fans out there, but you’ll have to wait a bit longer. :P

But the conversation had given me an idea, Blacksilk is occasionally keen to take photos, but due to my insistence on cock-less shots they require framing or editing or, I dunno, I’m not a camera-wielder, some magic along those lines. Clearly what is needed is a censor bar, like the one Blacksilk has on her Twitter pic and presumably elsewhere where nipples are frowned upon (weird mental image there1 ). But not just any censor bar, a shadow censor bar, um, I mean, a real-life one.

I’d initially planned to do this for Tuesday, but then remembered that I was supposed to be cooking food for the rest of our house, and that may be hard to do appropriately without clothes on (Alt has declared on many an occasion that he is most definitely not attracted to me, and the rest of our housemates would be similarly unkeen). Plus, a day’s a bit short notice.

Okay, so, I hadn’t really got a plan formed at this point, so Tuesday involved thinking up an idea, by the end of which I’d narrowed it down to: find a box, sellotape some card or use a bin liner somehow… A quick check with Red confirmed my belief that two of these three plans, combined with hair, would be painful, so a box it was. I initially planned to use a kitchen roll tube somehow, but then Wednesday morning I realised a much better plan, using a cling film (that’s plastic wrap for our overseas friends) box. I also thought, hey, while I’m obscuring the photo, why not get a box on my head or some such.

Of course, once you’re putting a box on someone’s head, it’s only a tiny jump to objectification, because that’s a thing. From my devastatingly large sample size I get the feeling that this and many other forms of objectification are, shall we say, a little more called out when it’s women as the victim than men, so I thought I could make some sort of statement about it, because political statements and sex are a good combination. Bah, whatever.

So Wednesday I went and got some black card, cut up some stuff, did a bit of gluing and came up with:

Censored

Truly I am a master of basic craft skills.

I had initially thought of putting something like “objectify this man” on the box, but then decided to go with the classic question mark in a silhouette style thing. Obviously this meant that there was nowhere to put the description of the idea, so I thought “Hey, maybe I could make it like an art piece”. I did some research, well, not really, just a bit of reading on the Internet, but that’s close enough, and came up with the following (warning: the following may contain the view that extreme feminists are mental cases):

Objectified Man?

To complete the plan I also got some really expensive flowers. They were like £3. And they say chivalry is dead. Blacksilk called me after she got out of work (as is the norm, because we’re soppy romantics or something) and I subtly worked out what time she was getting home, by asking her for it (thanks, Equilibrium).

So, how to sort out a good art exhibit, well, firstly, a few clothes, not really covering much, more as a decorative piece, jeans around ankles, shirt fully undone, censored bar in place. Place some flowers for emphasis… Oh, and cuffs of course, ankles are easy, but then I had to fiddle a bit to cuff one wrist and then slip into the cuff of the other wrist, but fortunately I had a bit of time spare. I also had a hole in the side of the box, so I could see what time it was and check my screen-saver didn’t do something stupid.

So Blacksilk got home and came upstairs to say hi, upon entering the room she, well, I guess that’s a story best told by her in another blog post. ;) ♦

A round of applause for Crush, everyone! I hope you’re all excited to see him writing for a sex blog for the first time, do please be gentle with him. And tell him/us what you think! Wasn’t he fantastic? Don’t forget to read the follow-up!

  1. *I’m kinda imagining that bit in Gangnam Style, but with a frown rather than a weird shout and boobs instead of bum. []

Acting on Instructions

Red is a vixen, Red is a flirt
Red told me to go to him and rip off his shirt
Red is a siren, Red is a tease
Red told me to take him and bring him to his knees

♦ He was playing D&D and I was in my bedroom somewhat bored. I say bored, “bored” was really more of an excuse to message her out of the blue and chat. OK, flirt, fine. “Go distract him”, Red told me, “show him your boobs.”1

“He’s playing via webcam,” I pointed out. “So, not a good idea.”

“Stand off-camera and strip,” She said.

It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. It’s not like I need to be encouraged to flash my rack at Crush. So I prowled into his room, whispered a few choice naughtinesses into his ear, stood to one side and pulled up my top. A toothy grin appeared on his face before I dashed back to my computer.

When his game had finished, he came in to see me. His attitude was instantly flirtatious, sexually-charged. Had I done all that with one flash of my goods? Hmm, looks like he’d been talking to Red too. I bet she’d nudged him towards being worked up, just like she’d nudged me.

“Just give me a minute to finish here,” I said, tapping a few bits of a review out.

When I went in, I found him sprawled on the bed. Instead of his usual supremely-lazy attire, he was in the sexy, sexy jeans and green-striped shirt I’d bought him. For a man surgically-attached to his trackie bottoms, that there was bedroom-wear. And he was fucking rocking it, sly smile and all.

As we watched each other, I stripped, making sure to take extra care on the breast-reveal that I know is his favourite part.

Just as my bra hit the floor, my phone buzzed up a message. Red.

“Has he bent to your will yet?”

I looked over to him. His pose was… not quite submissive, but certainly passive. He lay waiting for me to leap on him. Given he’d spent the last few days punishing me for any imagined transgression, I’d say I might be in control here. And he’d dressed up just for me…

“Oh, I think so…” I replied quickly, knowing he probably got a buzz off us talking about him. “Best be off.”

Naked, I crawled onto the bed from his feet, up over his legs until I paused and perched just at his thighs. He looked amazingly sexy. A shirt always says “rip me off” and his eyes shone. The bulge in his jeans was particularly unsubtle. I loved that.

I spent some time just admiring him and exchanging flirtatious talk before I pulled his upper body towards my chest. His mouth lunged at my nipples eagerly and I pushed his head from breast to breast, rubbing his face into me. Now and again I’d push him away, down onto the bed, and then pull him back up by his shirt. I was enjoying my display of dominance over him.

He told me he loved to be pushed about from nipple to nipple, to struggle half-blinded by flesh, to have to work hard to find them with his tongue, to not quite get enough. He told me he could do it for hours, but it was only minutes before we decided to add a new element.

Our under-the-bed restraints may not be the classiest piece of kit, but on a bed with no headboard, it certainly comes in handy to have them always there ready. I secured his arms. The problem before was that he could just lean forward and plant his lips on my nipples at any time unless I held him down. Now I moved backwards, lengthening the distance.

Soon I could control his access to my nipples with just a slight lean forward or back. He strained at his bonds as I darted in and out, pushing his head from tit to tit when I got close. Just long enough to get my fill of pleasure from his mouth on my skin, just short enough that he still felt restricted.

After a while, I pushed him back down on the bed and swiftly unbuttoned his shirt. I peppered his delicately-sculpted chest with kisses and licks before working my way down to the buttons of his fly.

He’d only done two up, which is good, because they’re a bitch.

So I opened them and pressed my face to the base of his cock as it peeped from above the fabric. I kissed his cock and nuzzled the fly of his jeans further open as I did until he was nearly fully exposed. My fingers did the rest.

I licked and sucked as he moaned in his restraints before hopping back over his hips and pressing myself into him.

He wanted me to fuck him. It was late, but I couldn’t say no. I wanted him. I wanted to take him. I could feel the crispness of his jeans under my thighs, the heat of his cock against my pussy lips, the flutter of his heartbeat through his chest.

I grabbed my faithful Tango bullet and began to lower myself down onto his shaft. Handily, I was already quite wet from our foreplay and from testing a lovely glass dildo not long before, so no lube was required before I felt him full inside me. I pumped up and down on his slickened cock and groaned as he hit deep inside my pussy. His face was turned sideways into the pillows, passion twisting him into curled up shapes and ecstatic forms. He drove his hips upwards in time with my own movements, thrusting hard against gravity and my weight.

It wasn’t long before all I could do was hold on and keep my tight grip on the vibrator at my clit. Now he was doing all the work and I sagged into him, my previous energy drawing in, coalescing in my cunt. My orgasm rose up in me like bubbles in a tar pit, bursting suddenly and sending thick black tendrils of pleasure surging to the tips of me. I came gasping on top of him, my moans causing him to sigh with delight.

The climaxes that followed were soon joined by Crush’s own grunting rapture, his brows knitted in effort and expulsion, his cock twitching. I let him lie there, blissful and exhausted in his restraints for a time as I, too, recovered my breath. Then I loosened his bonds and set him free. ♦

Silk is a harlot, Silk is a whore
Silk told her the day was won and cannot wait for more

  1. Who is Red, you ask? All will be revealed in time. For now, just know she is sexy, dirty and mischievous… []

White Stockings, White Stockings She Wore

♦  If you get the reference in the title of this poem (without cheating), not only will I be SUPER impressed, but I’ll likely love you forever. Because win.

In any case, here’s a little poem I started writing a while ago but got creative block part way through even though I knew where it was going! Anyway, it’s done now and I think I’m beginning to discover some themes in my poems that I’m unintentionally returning to, which is very interesting! As always, I’m dying to know what you think, so please leave any comment or critique below! ♦

White stockings and feet

On Sunday, I put you in white stockings.
I held the silk-soft tips open and you dipped in your toes,
Wriggling them childishly as I started to slide the stockings slowly up.
Up, up over your calves to rest atop your milky thighs,
Mere inches from your freshly-shaven slickness.
Your bit your cunt-pink lip in false consternation.
I made a note to fuck the levity out of you later.

You hadn’t done anything special to deserve a gift,
But I’d got you one anyway.
I pulled a white cotton negligee from its hiding place
And slipped it over your upraised arms,
Tugged it down past coral nipples and freckled flanks.
I bent you forward and the negligee rode up to expose your bottom
And a peek of pussy.

It was all I could do not to thrash your thighs there and then,
Not to birch your behind until slick turned to sopping,
Not to dip my thumb into your hive and come out coated in milk and honey.
You stood stock still, an expectant angel, waiting for me to blink.

Not yet.

I stood and placed a lecherous hand on your bare bottom,
Another on your chest,
And tipped your torso upright, signalling the end of your appraisal
We were masks, you and I.
Mischief capered under your doe-eyed surface;
Under mine, only the thought of ransack. Rampage.
But first, we’d play.

Dressed in your spotless, sacrificial whites,
You listened as I set your task.
You’d dust this room from top to bottom.
You would sweep its floor and beat its rugs.
And when you had exchanged your purity for its,
I’d stand you on the coffee table and have you spin for me
Like a mannequin on the fucking shopping channel.

My secret?
For each smudge, a spank.
For each blemish, a bruise.
For each streak, a strike of the cane, a snap of the whip…
A mark for each of your marks.

I’d beat out your imperfections and brand them on your skin.
I’d pin you down and pull your hair.
And fuck what was left of your levity gasping into the air.

On Sunday, I put you in white stockings.
But you went home, smiling, in bruises, wet knickers and sin.

♦  For those of you who give up on the title reference, you may remember that I’m a proud Cornish maid. The title is a line from a Cornish song called Camborne Hill, about Trevithick and steam engines and with a bit of innuendo thrown in for good measure (I ‘ad ‘er I did, it cost me a quid?). You can hear it sung here by a lovely male voice choir (with a slightly fancified arrangement, but mostly authentic).♦

Wicked Wednesday

Ten Hut! – 100 Orgasms

♦ “Close your eyes,” I said and he did. He lay back on the bed and shut them firmly, anticipating, always eager to obey when he knew I had something planned. I did have something planned, even if that plan had come together in the space of five minutes in the next room, rooting through The Drawers for kink and kit.

We’re having our housewarming this weekend and it’s fancy dress, because fancy dress is fucking fantastic. I’ve been making a military beret for mine and something clicked in my head when I saw it lying there, discarded. I’d been thinking lacy and stockings, but now…

I shut the door behind me and straddled him at the hips.  When I allowed him to open his eyes he saw me dressed in the green beret and a very military-like khaki jumpsuit buttoned to the collarbone. I carried a crop under my arm, swagger stick style. I swear his eyes almost bulged from his head.

He was dressed only in his trousers and he looked beautiful. I’d already been impressed earlier that day by how gorgeous his arms looked: swimmer’s muscles, lean and lithe but strong.

You’ll have to forgive me. I may say it myself, but what he said to me and what I said to him and the roleplaying was so fucking hot. But I forget. My waves of orgasms are too good at wiping out the coastal villages of my memory. The details merge, the lines become brush strokes of eroticism on an Impressionist painting.

So, yeah, I forget stuff.

But the night was swimming with “Yes, Ma’am”s and permission asked and occasional cheek given. I enjoyed ordering him around and domming shit up and punishing insubordination where I found it, rewarding good behaviour too.

I unbuttoned the top of the khaki jumpsuit to show my breasts, naked but for a fishnet bodystocking and, supporting them, an almost Steampunk “bra belt”. My nipples poked through the black fishnet and I leant in towards his face. He sucked on my left nipple with ardour and I gasped and ground into his body beneath me.

Before I knew it, I was surprising myself with an orgasm. My grinding into him wasn’t even involved! This was all from his attention on one of my nipples and I inwardly praised my body as I shuddered on top of him.

Military-style banter that I so wish I could remember followed. Trust me: fucking hot. Crush respectfully suggested we try the experiment again to see if we could reproduce those results and I agreed, but this time I demanded to lie on my back.

He took my nipple in his mouth again and he began to suck, but my nipple wouldn’t be so easily swayed this time. No matter. As he sucked hard I began to rub my crotch over my jumpsuit and, not that he knew that, my black PVC thong underneath. I rubbed furiously, so turned on by his desire and the sheer fucking hotness of it all. Soon I was shuddering, a second orgasm rippling through me.

Now Crush was bold with lust and, as we switched places again, asked me if he could spank me.

Well, I was in charge as his Commanding Officer, so what to do? But a filthy thought occurred. I quite like the idea of hurting a man, something he might not necessarily like, as a form of payment by him to get something he really wants. I’m not sure what it is about it. Perhaps the idea that his lusts have overtaken him so?

In any case, I offered the price of five pinches of his nipple for an undefined period of spanking me. He accepted nervously and I began, gently, to pinch him. I brusquely told him to count and he did. But he tried to be cheeky, tried to count three when it was two. So I started again. He counted the fourth pinch before I’d actually done it, so guess what? I started again.

This time there were no mistakes and I dismounted him, leaning forward on hands and knees as he spanked me with the red paddle. Sometimes I hate that paddle. Sometimes, as you’ll see, I love it. But right now it was a hard one to take.

Take it I did, though.

Now naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and I produced my black metal handcuffs from the little pile of toys I’d brought in. I set them down and, hot from our exertions, stripped the khaki jumpsuit from my body. Now he saw the thong and the full glory of my bodystocking as its netting covered my sticky-hot curves.

The hat, I noticed, fell some time during the spanking. Now it was pure kinkwear, but we kept up our roles nonetheless. My geek society would be proud. :P

I opened the cuffs, managing to hook them into my fishnet on the way. Sigh. Unhooking them, I instead attached them to my intended target. I grabbed them by the chain and hoicked his arms above his head, scratching at his chest and back and eyeing him fiercely.

Letting go, I made him scoot up the bed and knelt between his legs, bringing my beloved Tango vibe with me. I placed it between my labia, cushioned by them and kept in place by my thong and thighs. I turned it on and felt it throb. I kissed my way up Crush’s body, crawling seductively, reaching his cock and…

…running my tongue playfully a centimetre above his shaft as if licking, but not. A tease. A torture.

The kisses marched up his chest and neck before I turned and swooped back down on his cock, licking for real this time, making love to him with tongue and lips. I was feral, enthusiastic, I moaned when he leaked pre-come and writhed back and forth, managing to rock against the vibrator nestled in my folds. I came once, twice as I licked fervently and then collapsed on his cock.

I offered to let him fuck me, right then and there. But Crush was on task. He knew I had a goal to reach and figured one more towards it before moving on couldn’t hurt. He asked me to carry on licking and sucking and coming on my bullet vibe, but this time he wanted some dirty talk. And, narcissist that he is, heh, dirty talk about him.

So I told him as I licked him about how hot he makes me, how sexy he looks, his gorgeous body, his thick cock and I licked and sucked. I wriggled and turned up the rumble on my vibrator until I came again, moaning on his cock, gagging myself with his erection.

The finest part of the evening was still to come though. And I’m not even talking about the penetration. No, while that was fantastic, I think I liked the next part better. Remember I said sometimes I love the red paddle?

He wanted to use it on me again, this time while I continued to use the vibrator on myself. I was only too quick to oblige.

It was interesting how through the whole thing, I was still in charge. Even when I asked him what he wanted, even when I shuddered under his hand as he spanked me. It was strange, although it shouldn’t be, and wonderful. I was his superior officer, he a lowly subordinate and I was using him for my kicks. Simple as. Whether he spanked me or not, it was my will and I could easily have him court marshalled in a snap, naturally.

I discarded the ridiculously-named “bra belt” and the thong and leant forward on the bed. He spanked me as I toyed with my clit using the vibrator and for a while it was much the same as the first spanking. Then the rumbling on my clit began to kick in and, as I worked myself towards another orgasm, I found myself wanting more and more and MORE.

“Harder,” I begged and Crush obliged. “Harder,” I cried and he hit harder still. With each gain in arousal I wanted more force, more pain. Soon I was coming hard and Crush was pounding on me as hard as he could. I had never taken this much force for this long before and I kept it up as I rolled into another fantastic climax. I was out of breath, sweating, shaking, I was full of the most wonderful feelings and sensations. I collapsed forward and turned onto my back, gazing at my beautiful lad with wide eyes.

“I love you,” I said, breaking character momentarily.

“I love you too,” he replied.

The sex that followed was frantic and amazing. Once I’d warmed to the large cock inside me, I told him he could go as hard or soft as he liked. I think he tried to teach me a lesson and soon I was bouncing, shrieking, revelling in the wonderful pleasure/pain of his rough thrusts. He came inside me after a time and we flopped next to each other, spent… ♦

Bruising

10/100

Tease, Tease, Tease

♦ Time for another drawing for Sinful Sunday! This is another one that was drawn a little while ago. In fact, longer than the last one! I’m usually terrible at remembering when I drew things, so how do I know when this was done? Simple really, that’s me and Fractal.

Yup! Now, I have to say right now that that is not the most accurate drawing of me in the world (sorry to disappoint, potential stalkers!). It’s got my scar, but it’s just not right in terms of body shape or my face, really. Hooray for idealism! I could be wrong, but Crush agrees.

I did genuinely own that outfit (still have the garterbelt), though, and the scenario is, shall we say, not too different from many that occurred in real life. I am, as always, a sub who switches. Once again, please click to embiggen, if you’d like, and let me know what you think! I hope you like it, feel free to let me know if it inspires any nice thoughts… ♦

It’s always tease, tease, tease
You’re happy when I’m on my knees

Fireman Sam

♦ Those of you who know what I’m talking about, do feel free to start squirming in anticipation. Those of you who don’t, let me sort you out. Towards the end of last year, Erotic Meet, a site for erotic creatives, ran a competition on their site. This was before I joined EM, so I didn’t even enter, but many did and it was hard fought. The winner? The lovely Molly of Molly’s Daily Kiss. The prize? An inflatable love doll named Fireman Sam.

If you haven’t already read this, go and do so now. Trust me, it is required reading for this post. To refresh your memory: Molly took Sam on a lovely date and took some photos for her blog. The result was ridiculous and hilarious and sparked quite a lot of comment. Molly proposed a project. She’d send Sam on to other interested bloggers and each would have a date with him and take photos before passing him onto the next lucky, lucky candidate. Well, guess what? I’m the first stop on the world tour.

So, what the hell should I do with him when he came to me? I racked my brains for a little while and realised very quickly that in a shared house in the middle of the city, there wasn’t a lot I could do about going on a proper date with him anywhere without having to answer an awful lot of questions. Well, that rather limits it to my bedroom. Ooh…

Less of a date and more of a one-night fuckfest for my dear Sam then?

Hmm, well, from what Molly said, he wasn’t up to much in that department. So what to do? The thought then hit me. I was in a Blue Moon Dom mood anyway and Crush was lurgified for the umpteenth time this winter. I knew what I’d do. I’d take my filthy, dominant perversions out on my inflatable friend. Crush should be grateful he was ill after what I’d get up to!

The first step in my domination, not a usual one for me, forced feminisation…

It turns out I do actually own that much pink stuff when I really look for it. I added a little bondage, control and sensory deprivation to the mix…

The Mindfold is a genuinely brilliant blindfold that I really recommend, actually. Please don’t judge it based on its model!

Heck, he was even light enough to string up at my door, despite being a little too short to reach the ground…

 Sadly, Sam’s limitations as a submissive partner soon became more and more apparent…

 No mouth? Hmm. OK, well, that’s not the only tool in my sadism bag (now I want an actual sadism bag). Let’s try something else.

Oh. OK, so those nipples are pretty useless too. Buggery. But buggery didn’t work either…

OK, OK, fine. Now Sam was really beginning to wind me up. And winding me up when I’m in a sadistic mood is not so much a good idea. He was going to get it now. I was going to bring out the toy that for him would be a real challenge to submit to. It’s one of my favourites, in fact. I love it used on me.

Sadly, things quickly took a turn for the worse for Sam…

Don’t worry. He’s fine really! I am a dab-hand with that pinwheel and there was no way I was going to puncture him unless an earthquake hit. I’m practically an expert! Right, so that’s why in all that business I didn’t puncture him but did manage to make my thumb bleed then? Yes, that’s probably about right.

I’ll spare you the picture.

So, yes, that was my date domination session with the fabulously floppy but fearless Fireman Sam! I’ll be bringing back to his owner Molly at the Erotic Meet this Friday coming, where he might even make it out of his box and do a bit of networking himself! Either way, I’ll be passing him on to his next date and you’ll be able to read and see more of his adventures soon.

I hope you enjoyed this post. It was a bugger to make, but a joy to do. When you’ve dressed an inflatable fireman up in your knickers, you do kind of wonder what you’ve done with your life, but it was oh, so worth it. Thank you, Molly, for the opportunity, thank you, Erotic Meet, for introducing all of us to Sam and thank you, everyone, for reading. ♦

The Swinging Tree

I wrote this story for the Erotic Meet competition A Pleasure Shared. The idea was to take a fantasy or pleasurable moment supplied by another member and turn it into a erotic creative piece. I chose MissPlayer’s inspiration, which was “outdoors intimacy – a little more specific, bare toes, barely touching damp soil, arms raised and restrained…” I didn’t win, but I still really love this story. What do you think?

♦ The first drop of rain hit just as the familiar shape of the swinging tree came into sight, but by the time we had reached it, we were half-soaked through. We laughed as we ran in under the branches of the tree and gasped surprised breaths into air made oppressive by the recent heatwave. The day had started out as we remembered them: baking sun, still air and a heavy feeling that, had we but realised, should have warned us of the rainstorm to come.

You hefted the rucksack from your back and I turned from your brown-eyed gaze to look at the tree before me, filled with a sense of comfort to be back under its branches. As children we had learned to jump up and grab the one branch low enough to reach, swinging from it for as long as we could manage.

Now we were older, the swinging tree’s same perfect branch was within tiptoe reach and I marvelled at how I had ever managed to jump so high so young.

You sighed and I turned to see you pulling off your sodden top. I smiled at your rain-slick torso, remembering how it felt when I first stroked the firmness of your chest. I saw flashes of skin, flusters of nervousness, our first faltering fuck. That summer had been particularly glorious.

“You’ll catch your death of cold in those clothes,” you chided, playfully.
“Yes, mother.” I replied and you swatted at my thigh.

We were sheltered from the worst of the rain and from prying eyes and I relished the thought of being naked again with you. It had been too long since my last visit. My canvas shoes were the first to go and my socks along with them. My feet felt free of burden now and I relished in feeling the damp soil between my toes and in knowing how black my soles would become. I watched you somewhat cautiously as we stripped, but your smiles and skin soon put me at ease.

The only thing not too badly drenched were my little white knickers, so that’s all I had on by the time I leant back under the limb of the swinging tree. You hadn’t changed one jot over the years and wore no underwear. That much was clear as your erection stood proud and clear in front of me.

You had a dopey sort of look on your face as you approached me, one I’ve always loved. You put an arm around my neck and pressed your hardness into my front, pushing my back against the damp bark. All I could hear was our shallow breaths and the rushing patter of droplets as the rainstorm broke around us.

Your tongue found mine as the first thunderclap rolled. The weight of the air lifted and the oppressive pressure of that stifling day broke in an instant as I opened myself to you.

“Close your eyes,” you said and I did so willingly, my pussy knotting at the memories those words evoked. I’d always trusted you a little more easily than perhaps I should, but you’d never betrayed me.

I heard the zip of the rucksack and the rustle of rummaging over the rain. When you returned I felt the tip of your cock press against me as you lifted my arms gently above my head. You pulled me up onto tiptoe and guided my hands to the branch of the swinging tree. The feel of rope pilfered from the tent slipping around my wrists was, I admit, not the biggest surprise. I remembered a whole weekend of us poring over illustrations of knots and positions and harnesses and how we had muddled our way through several silly mistakes before you perfected the art.

And perfected it you had. “You can open your eyes now,” you said and I did. I was firmly trussed, arms raised above my head and body at almost full stretch, teetering on tiptoe. That wasn’t to last.

“Let me swing your legs up,” you told me.
“Why?” I replied.
“For old time’s sake.”

I raised an eyebrow, but agreed all the same. The branch was still firm and slightly supple and wobbled a little as I swung my lower body up and into your arms. I trusted it no less than I trusted you, having seen it stand our attentions over many years.

You lifted me by the rump, taking care not to slip on my damp skin. Soon my ankles were locked around the sturdy branch and not long after you had secured those too. My knickers felt decidedly more damp then they had been a moment ago, but I was sure I hadn’t felt the splash of any of the raindrops finding their way through canopy there.

You waited by my behind, naked as a babe, goosebumps peppering your flesh even in this still-hot air, your cock now only semi-erect. I wondered what you were waiting for.

Thunder rolled through the afternoon again and only a split-second afterwards I felt the sting of your hand on the slick skin of my bottom. I yelped but did not shudder with shock, aware that my position was precarious.

Thankfully, the storm was not close enough to be in danger of a lightning strike and the only thing I had to fear was your resounding smacks, each one coming in tandem with the booms of thunder, the pauses filled with a soothing rub from your palm or a salacious tease of my pussy lips.

“We’ll get you warmed up yet,” you teased.

You kept to your word and soon my ass felt on fire from your ministrations and my knickers were soaked through with my own pleasure. The air smelt wonderfully of pussy juice and petrichor.

Each spank made my flesh sing and my cunt twitch, each one was seared into my memory. You were unforgiving and I was unending in what I could take. The branch of the swinging tree wavered and shook, but did not give. I wavered and shook, but did not give.

When you grew tired of spanking me you loosened the rope from my ankles and lowered me by the legs, leaving me once again on tiptoe. My limbs were sore from taking my weight and my bottom ached in the most welcome, wanton way.

“Thank you,” I said and you smiled. You kissed me passionately and I wished I had my hands free to hold your face.

With my body stretched like this and my toes barely touching the moist earth beneath my feet, I was at the perfect height for you to slip your once-again stiff cock past my pathetically see-through panties and into my opening. You fucked me roughly against the bark of our old childhood haunt and I gasped and giggled in the fresh, new air as the sudden rainstorm began to wane around us.

As I bounced on your cock in the security of your restraints and the shelter of our intimacy, I relished the dying sound of the rain and the crescendo of our orgasm together. We’d likely have to turn back so as not to catch cold in our wet things, but for now the sanctuary of the swinging tree was all we needed to fuck and be fucked, to love and be loved and to revel in every moment of it. ♦