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Zombie Nation

♦ I don’t have a zombie fetish. Gosh, that’s a sentence I should probably never have to write, isn’t it? But with my recent drawing of a sexy pin-up zombie that I showed you and the fact that I’ve written a story in an anthology of zombie erotica, you might be forgiven for thinking that I’ve an infatuation with the Infected.

And, OK, you’ve got me, I like zombies a lot. Just not like that.

I tried to fathom the sexy aspects of the living dead when I was brainstorming ideas for the aforementioned zombie-porn story. I came up with a few little titbits I could cling to as erotic features of a zombie – their feral side, their untiring nature, their relentlessness – but ultimately I couldn’t really find them a personal turn-on, even if I thought about it. I resolved to include actual sex with an actual zombie (though mine is infected rather than undead) in my story nonetheless, for the sheer challenge. As I said in my “story behind the story” post for editor Sommer Marsden, if I can make shagging a corpse fucking hot, I can make anything fucking hot.

Why am I reiterating my strictly-platonic-and-nothing-else interest to zombies now? Well, I just feel like you should know I don’t get off on risen-again corpses before you see my Toy With Me Tuesday this week…

The Fleshlight Freaks Zombie dildo and zombie paraphernalia!

I have loved the Fleshlight Freaks range of dildos (and male masturbators, penis owners!) since I first saw them. One day, I think I’ll write an entire post on them in ode to how fucking great they are, but I’ll sum it up here: they’re so well made, so detailed, so not pink and so goddamn unusual! It’s so bloody unusual to see horror and pop culture brought into women’s sex toys (I think less so for men’s, but I may be wrong). It’s so great to see something beautifully grotesque and truly different as opposed to childish or cutesy-poo or inoffensive or sleek or glam or “feminine”.

I knew I had to get myself one if I could, so when my zombie story actually got published in Hungry for Love, I treated myself to a Fleshlights Freaks Zombie cock in self-congratulation. The risk was zombies and the reward was zombies.

The Fleshlight Freaks Zombie dildo and a Shottle Bop zombie necklace

And look at it. Isn’t it absolutely gorgeous? It’s so fantastic and that’s before you even put it in you.

I figured I’d take a couple of photos of my new zombie cock and pretty much the rest of my zombie paraphernalia. In these shots you can see the Fleshlights Freaks Zombie dildo itself, a Left4Dead poster (for the No Mercy level, I have the Death Toll poster too but a friend pinched the other two. I bloody love L4D and L4D2), the Coming Together: Hungry for Love zombie anthology mentioned above, the novel World War Z, a non-fiction book called Zombies: A Field Guide to the Living Dead (which I picked up in researching – ultimately unused – ideas for my story), my zombie heart ring from Bete Noire Jewellery and my Zombie Gone necklace from Shottle Bop.

I went for a bit of a garish, B-movie feel to the colouring of the photos and added some grain and video-lines to make it more schlocky and zombtastic. Oh, and the title references this song. So, what do you reckon to my new bit of dead dick? ♦

Toy with me Tuesday

Lemon Drop

♦ Another drawing of mine today! I drew this a little while ago based off a girl I saw in Bizarre Magazine with this outfit. If you can call knickers, pasties and jewellery an outfit. I love her hair, the quirky lemon earrings and, most of all, rainbow-coloured pants! Woop! After all, nudity doesn’t always have to be so serious. I bet this girl’s a lot of fun to be around.

I’m going to leave you to look at this and tell me what you think, while I drift off into fantasies of owning and strapping-on a Rainbow Amor and then fucking her silly with it, rainbow-knickers tugged hastily to one side… ♦


Come At Me

♦ This is a slightly dark, slightly intimate, slightly raw one for me that I just wrote today. But, hey, if I can’t share something like this, it’s hardly in the spirit of the poem, is it? Note to potential psychos: consent is vital. ♦

I stare into your maw with ropes around my wrists
I had let you take me and tie me, led like a lamb
Docile, calm

I am here to make you break me

I wait for the gale of your howl to shake my bindings
I ache for the hot damp of your breath on my face
You’d better be ready

I am here to make you break me

I don’t think it will be hard
I’m not that tough, alright?
Sure, I talk big
I tell you I’m comfortable with my desires
I don’t want to be comfortable

There are dark, wriggling things chained up in my ribcage
Break me open
Set them free
Spill my desires at your feet
Hoist them up before my face

I am here to make you break me

Drag me by my hair
Pull me to the depths
Show me what I really want

I sit, a willing sacrifice, in your lair
I look you in the eye and dare you
Come at me

I am here to make you break me

TMI Tuesday – It’s Just A Fantasy

♦ When TMI Tuesday talks sex, I talk TMI Tuesday. This one looks like a particularly interesting-looking one. ♦

1. If your lover was turned on by forced feminisation would you participate (giving or receiving)?

I would certainly participate, but it’s not something that overly appeals to me. I don’t like frills on men much, but lace is a good look on men in the knickers area. I have a few pictures I love of men in corsets and stockings, but even then I prefer the less floofy look. My friend Alt cross dresses in women’s clothes often and I’ve got to admit he’s pretty hot when he does, but I don’t actually like it when he wears things that are too girly-girl. I even like my skirt-wearing men ungirly! Though I stand to be corrected.

Anyway, I’d totally participate if my partner had a kink for it for several reasons: 1) It doesn’t squick me or bother me, so I should indulge it because they enjoy it, 2) It’d certainly be interesting and 3) I might even like it because of how much they enjoy it.

I probably wouldn’t let anyone sissify me, though, but then I can’t see why feminising a girl’d appeal to anyone. :P

2. When you have sexual dreams or fantasies that are aggressive or cruel, does it worry you?

It used to. I’ve had some vivid sex dreams and some of them have actually been quite disturbing for a variety of reasons. I’ve had some aggressive/cruel ones too. They come in two flavours: A) I’m the victim, B) I’m the perpetrator.

In the case of A, it used to bother me a fair bit, but then, most things did. Recall that for quite a while I was terrified of liking women in case I became a lesbian. At the time, it made sense, now it doesn’t. So, yes, when at quite a young age I had one of my typical action-damsel-in distress (even tied up it was because I was a kick-ass hero) daydreams turn into sexual assault and rape, I was pretty worried. These days, I understand it and myself better and I’ve accepted the fact that there’s nothing to worry about, whether I like to think about sexual violence or not.

In the case of B, it’s harder to say. I don’t tend to consent to these kind of thoughts as they play out in my dreams. I tend not to fantasise about sexual cruelty, it flings itself at me now and then when I sleep. Since those scenarios are not OK and not hot, I worry a little. But it’s just the subconscious cocking me about in the end.

3. Tell us your hottest filthiest fantasy, right now, in 100 words or less. 
This is the fantasy about your desires that you probably never share, maybe they even go against your morals, or are societal taboos.

I don’t have just one “hottest fantasy” and I certainly don’t have any that I probably never share because they’re taboos or what have you. You might have noticed that I’m not big on caring about taboos. I’m also not sure I could have a fantasy that goes against my morals. Sure, some of them might not be moral to do, but there’s nothing it’s immoral to think of.

Take your pick from my hot fantasies, though: threesomes, group sex,  forced sex, genderfuck, girl-on-girl, exhibitionism, voyeurism, pegging, being used and abused, all sorts.

4. Which super hero would you like to have sex with? Why?
a. Aquaman
b. Superman
c. Wonder Woman
d. She-Ra

I mean, is there really any other choice? I neither know nor care about Aquaman, Superman is a dull-as-dishwater goody two-shoes made of too much hunk and She-Ra isn’t really my taste. Long blonde hair? Eh. Why, when you can have a skimpily dressed brunette who comes with her own bondage gear.

Wonder Woman is literally made for fetish and whiffs of rampant lesbianism. Perfect.

5. Knowing there’s a hot young couple in the adjoining hotel room, would you press your ear against the wall to hear the action on the other side?

Well, spluh. Free porn! I’m beginning to realise I’m quite the voyeur, actually. Night-time journeys on trains are always accompanied by me staring out of the train fantasising about catching a glimpse of something lewd in a lit-up window. Sadly I’ve never had neighbours I could hear that well. Just a few half-caught groans here or there at best.

6. Do you think the lure to live out sexual fantasies or have sex frequently is amplified by technology? Briefly explain.

Yes. I certainly feel this myself. I have plenty of fantasies I haven’t yet tried and I might well not mind too much that I haven’t done them if it weren’t for the Net. But I go on Twitter or I read blogs and I hear stories of other people fulfilling my fantasies and having super-hot sex and I want that. I get jealous. Even if I’m currently experiencing a great streak of fantastic sex, I get jealous. The Internet exposes me to what I can’t yet have. The word ‘yet’ is important. I’m patient, but determined.

Bonus: Describe your fantasy life in three (3) words.

I want more.

Details, Details

♦ I wrote this on the same train as I wrote Make Me. It’s not a direct line to my cunt like that poem, but worthy of inclusion on my blog. I was trying something slightly more complex with this one, so tell me what you think! ♦

The snap of the buckle settling into place
The slight creak of the rope taking the strain
The devil is in the details

Where you are imperfect, the knots are just so,
the lengths carefully chosen,
the cup and curve and caress of hemp on your skin
calculated to tease and comfort

Your asymmetry is his perfect canvas

The collar sits flush against your throat,
emphasising the soft flutter of your pulse
The clamps on your tits are polished to a shine

You are motionless, as instructed,
but for a tremble of your chin and a flicker of your eyes

A lock clicks into place at your wrists
A strap is shifted one degree to the left

The set-up was effortless and the adjustments minor,
the accoutrements chosen seemingly on a whim
You wouldn’t know it, but the exact curve of your spine at this moment
was planned weeks ago

He cups your chin and brushes a stray hair behind your ear
You are complete

Each detail is exact, each angle aesthetic,
each nerve in you tingling and taut as intended

And now the minutiae are in place and his masterpiece is realised,
he will relish defiling it

He will spoil the calm perfection he has created,
he will soil his unblemished canvas
He will desecrate you

Oh, the devil is in the details, my dear, but salvation is found in your flaws…

Make Me

♦ I wrote this yesterday in a sleep-starved buzz of ideas on a sunlit train back from the North. I hope you like it, because it makes me seriously goddamn wet… ♦

By the stream that was once a river there is a dell where you will find me.

Where you will find me and make me…

And make me…

I will bite down on a fallen branch and press my face into the moss
and you will take me.

And the bark in my hair and the bites on my skin will be reminders.

And the scrapes on my knees and the welts on my thighs
will be my trophies.

The air will hum with screams that break through silence
and the minutes will last for years.

The sun will beat down as you beat down and I…

I will exult in having you make me.

TMI Tuesday – You Inspire Me

1. List ONE word to describe your last sexual encounter.


2. Can you recall your worst sexual experience? Why was it so awful? Did you do anything at the time to try to make it better?

I don’t know about worst ever, there have been quite a few potentials on that list, despite having had two very loving partners over the years. Occasionally I become irrationally hard to please, which makes everyone upset, occasionally I had to stop mid-scene with Fractal because it wasn’t working and was making me upset.

The one I’m thinking of isn’t like that, though. It’s not THE worst, probably, but sticks out in my mind. It was one where circumstances screwed it all up. Crush and I were trying to fuck in my front room while Fractal was asleep in the bedroom (please bear in mind I was in an open relationship). Sadly, it was summer and the sofa we were trying to shag on was that awful fake-leather kind that sticks to you like glue. Crush has sensitive skin and that bastarding sofa made it so bad for him that even when we moved to the floor, fun was off for the evening. Poor lad.

3. Do you fuck outside the box?

We all have a laundry list of things–features, demographic characteristics, etc. that we like and/prefer in a sexual partner. Do you ever deviate from that list? Give an example.

To be honest, I’ve not done an awful lot of sleeping around. I would, but my open relationship with Fractal only had two flings and my relationship with Crush is closed. Well, OK, it’s closed but I’ve recently been told I can fuck women, at least. Which is huge progress, by the way, but I’m not scouring the Net for hotties just yet. That said, if you’re interested… ;)

Anyway, point is, I haven’t had a lot of opportunity to “fuck outside the box”, really. But I still think I have.

I had sex with a woman. But I’m bisexual, right? Well, I wasn’t then. Or rather, I didn’t know I was. I don’t know if it exactly counts, but since my “type” at the time was geeky brunette men I knew well, hooking up with a random blonde girl off the Internet was pretty much as far out of the box as I could get at the time. I had no idea if I’d like it. I did.

Of course, now I consider myself bisexual, so girls aren’t “out of the box” any more. But girlsex is still probably my top fantasy-that-I’ve-already-done-but-need-to-do-again-and-more.

4. Do you blend BDSM in to your relationship? If yes, just in the bedroom or in other areas of your life? Explain.

Yes, I do. Pretty much just in the bedroom in any serious way, but it creeps into our life in playful little ways and in teases and flirts. In the bedroom, I am a switch who almost always submits and he is a dominant who is happy to be my occasional plaything. My Blue Moon Dom doesn’t come out much, hence the name, but is a real part of me that needs airing now and then. There’s so much to cover on all this that I’ll leave it here, but feel free to ask.

5. Does the thought of your partner/significant other having sex with another person turn you on? Would you want to watch the act? Would you like to join in?

Yes, yes and yes. Crush knows this. I would love for that to happen. I genuinely don’t think I’d mind him having sex with another woman (or man, but he isn’t into that) and I think it’d turn me on a lot. Especially if she enjoyed herself. I’d totally whore him out. :P

If I could watch or join in it would be just amazing. I really want a threesome and I really love the idea of voyeurism.

I’ve always found it a shame that in my open relationship with Fractal he never once did anything with anyone else (as far as I know, anyway) even though I kept encouraging him too. He admitted that he was just too lazy to find someone when he had me, even though he knew how much I’d enjoy it. Not impressed.

Bonus: Fill in the blanks. I like it _____ on the outside and ______ in the middle.

Crunchy and smooth. Armadillos are the surprising alternative to sex.

Showers and Strawberries

♦ Such a long week and so devoid of release. One little cog jams and suddenly, no sweet and soaring sex for me. Nothing but tantalising teases and the little preludes that normally swell into full-blown symphonies. A long, long week with no sex but plenty of sexuality, plenty of seduction, plenty of sinful talk and sensual snaps. It’s enough to drive a girl wild.

The frustration is immense. I can’t have what I want. I can’t dive into delirious and furious fucking. No throbbing cock ready to fill me up, no scratching and clawing and just taking what I need. And I need it. It’s all building up, up, up and something’s got to give. Pictures and words and sensations fill my head and the dull ache between my legs nags, refusing to go away.

A little ball of want.

The week ends and I return home weary but with naughty thoughts whispering in my head. Earlier I had wished I could just reach down my knickers and stroke the flesh that lies there, but circumstances had got in the way. Soon, I had thought, soon I’ll be free to do whatever I like to myself. Now here I am.

The perfect remedy for the hours upon hours of workaday life: a hot and steamy shower. I step in, my body tired and dragging with it a banality I’d hoped to leave at the door. With relief, I feel cascades of water hitting me, sloughing off the dust and dreariness, but leaving the tight feeling in my clitoris, now sharp as a whip. As I become clean and fresh, my energy rises and I reach for something soothing to slather myself in.

Strawberries. An ideal scent for filling my nostrils as I luxuriate in steam, self-indulgence and thoughts of you.

I cover myself in a strawberry slickness, stepping out of the stream so that it lingers on my naked body, a sweet pink liquid decorating my breasts, belly and thighs. Imagining the touch of your skin, I begin to stroke my own.

I run a hand down my thigh as the other lays momentarily upon my breast before beginning to explore it fully. I rub the strawberry gel into my skin as I imagine your hands, your gaze upon my increasingly excited and aroused body. When I have smoothed every bit but the last of the strawberry into my skin, I stop for a moment, listen to the heavy gush of the hot water and imagine in it your hot little breaths, your sighing gasps, your whispered curses and exultations.

The last of the strawberry has a special destination. I gather it up before snaking my hands one by one between my flushed-pink legs. Often I’ve enjoyed the feel of the slipperiness there as I wash myself, but now I know I’m going to make full use of it. With the heat of the water at my back, I stroke strawberry into every fold and crevice, sliding my fingers again and again over my pussy. You’re in my head as I run my fingers hand-over-hand between my thighs, my warm, wet sex pulsing with the clean-yet-dirty feel of the silky-smooth liquid.

I work myself into a frenzy, gasping as your most wicked words echo in my ears. My clitoris is full to bursting of frustrations waiting to be let loose.

I turn, plunging myself back into the water, planting my feet firmly at the sides of the shower, spreading my legs and holding on tight to the shower with one hand. Images of you deluge as surely and relentlessly as the water itself as I move the fingers of my right hand up from my folds and to my clitoris. You’re a slideshow. A zoetrope of lust. For now, at least, you’re an avatar of sex itself and I will prostrate myself at your altar.

My fingers work furiously at my clit, stroking the warm, sodding skin into ecstasy as all the tightness of a week’s torturous deprivation coils up ready to explode and dissipate. I hold on tight, the scent of strawberries mingling with my own, and I tumble shakingly into the first orgasm. Your skin, your fingers, your breath, your lust, my imagination bringing them to life and wrapping them around me, on me, in me.

I shudder, my orgasm racing through my body from clit to cunt and finger to toe. As it fades, I gasp. Before long I am cascading into another climax, stronger than the last, making my knees wobble. I hold on for dear life, nearly wrenching the shower contraption from the wall. As this second orgasm floods my body, I feel the last of the tightness and tiredness and tortuousness of my frustrations escape me. I needed this.

I needed to lose myself in a world of wetness, heat, sinfulness and strawberries and come out the other side fresh and shaking. Two warmths pulse through me now: that of the heat and that of post-orgasmic bliss. As thoughts of you lift from me like a broken spell, I blink and wake as if from slumber.

I turn off the shower and re-enter the world.

The scent of strawberries follows me for the rest of the evening… ♦

(This story now has its very own related naughty pictures of me here. Two pictures of my breasts both pre-shower and all lathered-up. )

Disney for Deviants – Part 1

Or, Defiant Men in Distress

♦ If there’s one thing I learned fairly quickly and with great certainty as I became a sexual being: I love kink. I get off on BDSM and specifically I’m a subby little slut. I love being tied up, I love being used and abused. And, of course, I love seeing this sort of thing in films and books and so on too. The thing is, even before I got into BDSM or even sex or even had masturbated for the first time, I knew what I liked to see. It’s strange. I hadn’t even really started to think about sex yet except perhaps in vague terms, but still, seeing certain things resonated strongly with me in a thrilling half-romantic, half-something else way.

I didn’t know quite what I liked about it, but I knew what I liked. And one thing I liked big time, with the benefit of some added hindsight, is the delicious, gooey, defiant manliness of a guy in distress. And you know what? Disney, of all people, is really good at this. I mean really, surprisingly good. Hey, tell you what, at this point I’ll come clean and say that this post was really sparked off by my memories of one film in particular and all the rest of the references are going to be shuffled in around it.

That film? Sleeping Beauty. (Other, lesser examples of this kink: the capture of Robin Hood in Robin Hood, Phoebus’s defiance against Frollo and his capture by Clopin in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.)

My abiding memory of that film, the one that overrules everything else even after watching it in subsequent years, is of the wicked (and awesome, in both ways) Maleficent with our hero Prince Phillip at her mercy. Specifically, I’m talking about two fairly short scenes here (pictures below are links to the scenes in question, as long as YouTube plays ball).

What does it for me? In the first scene, the rope, the gag, the strong and masculine figure bound and helpless and, most importantly of all, the small amount of wriggling to get free. The second is similar, oh, sure, the chains help, but what I really like about it is the defiance in him as he struggles in vain against his bonds, the masculine force, the rebellion.

It turns out that I really like to see heroes (and if they weren’t before, this makes them a hero for me) captured and almost powerless. I say almost, because the only power they really have left is to defy their captors and rail against their captivity. To defy them, in fact, often beyond all reason. Because what Disney films generally won’t show you is the cost of their defiance. The hero is bound or held somehow, the villain gloats and makes threats, the hero recklessly struggles half-free or spits at his captor or gives a witty and defiant retort and he is struck hard by the villain or their henchmen for their insolence (I think the closest Disney ever got to this was a rare female example where Jafar threatens to backhand Jasmine for throwing wine in his face, causing her to fall to the floor. (Incidentally, I’ve seen a fair few things with the hitting part of it added, I just can’t recall any examples now. If anyone would like to recommend any, that’d be awesome. And I should clarify here that when I say the guy gets a smack for his rebellion, I don’t mean he gets the crap beaten out of him. No horrendous violence, just a wee bit of acceptable pain and a show of power.) What’s important here is that the hero doesn’t cringe or repent or acquiesce, but remains defiant, though maybe silently so, and stoic. Or perhaps he continues to struggle angrily as he’s carted away.

Either way, I love that. It’s fucking hot.

And the thing is, I’m not quite sure why. What does that make me? I’m a sub mostly, I’m supposed to enjoy me being tied up and so on. Actually, I think I’d find that scenario pretty hot with me as the plucky captive, but that’s not what I’m looking at. He’s the one being tied up, not me. And whilst I’d enjoy myself in that scenario (seriously), I don’t think that’s why I get turned on watching it. I’m pretty sure I don’t put myself in his shoes. Sure, I’m a bit into androgyny and genderfuck, I’ve been a ‘boy’ in sexplay before, I have a packing cock, but I don’t think I’m identifying with that strong masculine presence on screen. And weirdly, I’m equally sure that I’m not identifying with the evil captor either. Sure, although I sub mostly I think I’d really like to dom a strong male who was into it, but again, I don’t think that’s how I’m watching it. So, is this submissive? Dominating? Neither?

Seems like I just get turned on by watching hot guys full of bravado in captivity (I’d also love to hear from anyone else who thinks this is hot, there’s safety in numbers!). At the time I wasn’t fully aware of it, but these moments, notably in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, were the first flickerings of being turned on by bondage, dominance and submission. Hell, probably the first flickerings of being turned on by anything, actually.

Of course, what I wonder is did I always like this somewhere deep down or did watching these scenes somehow incline me to kink to it? Was it these scenes that helped mould me into the little deviant I am today or was my love of them an early symptom of my love for BDSM? Either way, this was a big thing in my early proto-sexuality. I got turned on (at first romantically, admittedly, if that makes any sense) and thrilled by these surprisingly kink-filled themes before I even knew what turned on was. They’re an important part of my sexual make-up.

And guess what? You get to hear more about them! What, you thought this was it? Oh, no, my friends, in the next part of this little series we’ll discover yet more subtle and secret Disney depravity and how it has affected and reflected my proclivities. More men in pain, more masculine deliciousness, added genderfuck, a dash of plain-old eroticism and lust and a good dose of turbulent slap-slap-kiss! ♦


♦ I had sex with you, or so I imagined. The reality was much different. Linoleum cold on the soles of my feet. Bare, blank, wafer-thin walls making a cell and a sanctuary around my exposed body. The swish of smart skirts caught my ears and my breath, as outside the cubicle the world hissed by without me, business-like.

A warm hand put paid to the chills dancing on my chest. Your hand. Your hand wearing my flesh.

The porcelain is cold against my back as you slip into me. My hands are busy. My mind too.

We fuck, my eyes caressing the internal image of your face. It is misty, obscured by the haze of illusion and ecstasy. My fingers skid over my skin, pulse clattering into crescendo as I come, remembering how it is to be with you.

You are absent, of course. I’m alone with my thoughts and my lusts. Still… it felt like you were here in me.

And I will have you soon. ♦