“sultry” Boobday


I’m participating in the Boobday meme again this month. The theme this time is sultry.

To me, sultry is at its core sexy, but there’s more than that. It’s confidently self-aware of its own sensuality, and probably also aware of its effect on observers.

It seems to me that these elements are generally expressed through facial expression, tone of voice, body language, clothing. Some elements can’t be captured in a photo that excludes the face, while others can’t be photographed at all. And there’s only so much clothing I want to include in a photo for Boobday.

How to express sultriness without eye contact and a knowing look? Without a well-fitted dress that artfully reveals and conceals?

Somehow, mere cleavage will have to serve…


the etiquette of commenting

I read this post at Alex in Spankingland about the etiquette of commenting on kinky photos and it got me thinking. Alex is a professional spanking model, while I’m just sharing a few words and pictures about my (otherwise completely private) sex life, so many of the details are quite different, and yet some of the principles still apply.

Being able to connect one-to-one with strangers around the world to share intimate material is still quite new, so the etiquette is still developing. I think it’s worth giving some thought to the ways in which we interact with each other about this kind of material. I haven’t come to any conclusions yet, but the wheels are turning and a lengthier post will likely follow.

In the meantime, if you’re thinking about commenting on my blog, please have a look at Alex’s post first.

don’t stop at one

I had gone to sleep wondering what would happen in the morning, and woke up the same way.

I woke first, shortly before the original scheduled start time of 8:00. Would he want to try the enforced availability idea after all? The thought of it got me warm and wet. Structured playtime or not, I knew there was a good chance I’d be getting fucked soon. He woke up a few minutes later, and I initiated some cuddling while his grogginess faded.

Nothing at all was said about the old plan… which is how I knew it was still off. Oh, well. But it didn’t make a great deal of difference because we picked up more or less where we’d left things the night before. He informed me that his cock was very hard and then gave me a few ideas of what he thought I might do with that. I asked him which of his ideas he’d prefer, and he said he’d like me to suck on his cock. So I did.

He murmured his encouragement and enjoyment, but called me off after a short time so we could change things up. He wanted a fuck, and so did I. On knees and elbows I was, and good and wet so he slid in easily. My ass was up, my knees splayed wide and welcoming, my chest and shoulders on the bed, my arms outstretched, my hands braced against the wall. His hands held the nape of my neck, pressed down on my back, or gripped my flanks while he pulled me to him and pounded into me.

He came hard, and then it was my turn. Between the Pure Wand and the vibe, I had a good G-spot orgasm, about mid-range in intensity. He asked whether I wanted to try for another, which I did. The second one was good, more intense. After this we got up and went about our morning routine.

Later on in the day, he admired my ass while he was busy with something else and gave me a few smacks. It was game on again. We went to the couch — him sitting in the middle, me on elbows and knees over his lap — and he gave me a spanking. We then retired to the bedroom for more of the same, although it didn’t take long before we were ready for something different. My first orgasm, with wand and vibe, was again mid-range.

The second one, however, was beautiful. The lead-up was very intense, and I didn’t recognize the noises I was making, nor did he. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, just completely in the moment. In fact, I wasn’t so much making noises as allowing noises to happen, as if from a distance. I was in the middle of the experience, and yet I also felt part of my awareness was outside it — it was ecstasy in the sense of its Greek roots: “standing outside”.

This sense of awareness, from both the inside and the outside, reminded me of a couple of times when I’ve been performing. The first time I ever felt it was while singing (solo, a capella) and I knew the words and tune so well that for once I didn’t need to focus all of my attention on my performance. I still had awareness to spare, which I used to observe the reactions and focus of the audience members; they were engrossed, and the whole experience was tremendously satisfying. The most recent occurrence was a solo performance of my own choreography, although the feeling was less pronounced than that first time. This feeling, or part of it anyway, reminds me of some aspects of “flow” as defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. (A little research shows some connections but also some differences. A topic for another post?)

If this orgasm didn’t tie for the most intense that I’ve ever had, then it came a close second. After a moment, a small wave of tears washed over me, followed by a giggle fit, where everything was really funny. After some more ministrations, a third, slightly less intense, orgasm soon followed.

I guess the lesson here is not to stop at one.

The next day, my adductors were achy, and I think I’ve finally worked out why: when my knees are splayed wide in leapfrog position, I engage the adductors to keep my knees from sliding further out. My abs, which I had deliberately engaged for the orgasms (5 that day), frequently complained at the slightest movements. I even ended up with a few small bruises from the spanking, which is a first (we’re lightweights).


The courier’s card claimed that he had been at the door at a certain time — right on the hour, so it may have been an approximation. If he knocked, he was very quiet. Couriers, in my experience, don’t tend to knock quietly. If he rang… well, the button for the bell is damaged, so it might not have made noise beyond a faint buzz.

My partner figures that the courier had dropped the card in the mailbox without ever attempting the door. Why? Maybe he had actually forgotten the anxiously awaited package at the depot. Or maybe dispatch gives him too much to do in a day and he didn’t want to waste his time at the door at a time when he expected no one to be home. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, I’m thinking it’s just as well that he didn’t ring or pound on the door. Because if the time on the card was accurate, my partner was just finishing pounding me. Noise at the door would have ruined the moment and resulted in a mad scramble for some clothing followed by a frantic dash to the door. By which time the courier would have left his card and driven off anyway…


I got this T-shirt for Christmas. Actually, scratch that: my partner got this T-shirt for Christmas and he won’t wear it because it’s too big and has text on the front, so I immediately appropriated it even though I was given a little fitted one that is otherwise identical.

T-shirt 1

For an oversized T-shirt, it’s surprisingly sensual. The fabric drapes well and (when I’m wearing it properly) reveals whether my nipples are hard.

T-shirt 2


a swing and a miss

The drive back from that interview a few days ago was more fun than the drive out. Business now out of the way, my partner and I discussed a play idea I’d found (here) that interested us both:

Enforced Availability

This works best with a female submissive, and is especially good for those of you with an objectification fetish.

Choose a specific period of time, such as one particular day, when your partner is required to be available for sex at all times, regardless of her state of arousal. During this time, she is required to do whatever is necessary to keep herself ready for sexual penetration or intercourse. Periodically throughout the day, you should take advantage of her availability by taking her sexually, without warning and regardless of what she’s doing at the time. Keeping herself available and well-lubricated is part of her responsibility; she should be ready for you constantly, at any time. Note that care should be taken with an unaroused partner; good lubes are quite helpful here.

We talked about some basic considerations like when (probably a Saturday) and how long it would go (say, 8:00 am to 1:00 pm, for the sake of argument).

As luck would have it, there was a Saturday approaching. We revisited the idea later in the week and concluded that we might like to try it out. I hadn’t been getting off all that much lately and he was starting to feel rather guilty about that, so if this is what Saturday was going to be like, then Friday night had to be an orgasm buffet for me.

But we lost track of time on Friday evening and got a late start. After a nice spanking, when a shift of gears was required, he said something in a tone that didn’t quite work for me and I got derailed. While my mood was slowly tanking, he got derailed and started tanking too. We were soon at a point where the only thing for it was to retreat to solid ground: cuddling. I think we were both too tired.

With the pressure now off, my mood recovered fairly quickly so I started asking him about fun things he enjoys. (Even though we’ve been together a long time, this conversation is still very new.) He shared a few thoughts and the atmosphere warmed again: hey, sex talk is sexy. He started caressing my breasts and bottom, and I asked him to stroke my cunt, which he did, and then some. We got nicely hot and bothered again, but it was late and our moods were still a bit fragile. We are not risk-takers, so we cashed out our winnings (so to speak) and went to sleep.

While we had been cuddling, he said he figured that the enforced availability thing might be a bit much this time around, so we shelved it. But that was before we managed to repair the mood, so I wasn’t 100% certain that it was still off. That gave me something to consider as I drifted off to sleep…

odd timing, odd day

I was feeling very randy, despite having a collection of very good reasons not to.

The day before, my partner and I had driven to a nearby city so I could attend a job interview. This was during my period, which always wrings me out. I had gotten up earlier than I would have liked, and the drive was about 2½ hours one way. Ordinarily I would have dozed while he drove (as I almost always do), but it seemed unwise or at least undisciplined to snooze on the way to be judged on my suitability to be an employee. I’d started to fret mildly during the drive, so I’m not sure that I could have gotten any rest anyway. On arrival, we stopped for a quick lunch and then I went to my interview. One of the interviewers had asked me almost two hours’ worth of questions, during which time the other had written copious notes and nodded occasionally, which I’d taken as a good sign. Afterwards, my throat had been sore and I was more wrecked than I’d realized. We had immediately gotten back in the car for the return trip, the day had turned sunny and bright and squint-inducing, and I was happy to doze most of the way back. That evening had been a write-off.

As I woke up the next morning, I was already feeling a bit warm, as often happens now, and was in a mood to play. I started out by licking and sucking him until he was gloriously hard and wanted a fuck.

Previously, my habit had been not to have sex during my period — but, to be fair, my habit had been not to have sex at most other times too. These days, we’re in uncharted territory. My cramps aren’t eased by masturbation, and they made the idea of sex seem not fun. But what if I wasn’t actively crampy? I was about to find out.

I arranged the pillow and the bedroom towel, and we had the fuck we both wanted.

It was still fairly early in the morning and there was lots of stuff I wanted to get done that day. I went about my routine as best I could, but as the day wore on I found I didn’t really get anything done: I forgot what I wanted to do, my brain felt scrambled, and my emotions were off. From time to time, I found myself taking a little gasp as a small pocket of desire bubbled up from somewhere and made itself known.

Did I waste the day by reading hot stories, or was I reading hot stories because the day was already a waste? Was I upset because I didn’t get anything done, or did I not get anything done because I was already upset? I didn’t know what to do with myself and I felt overwhelmed with all the things I hadn’t done and couldn’t remember anyway. I think I was still over-tired, as well as wrung out emotionally.

Everything was a mess — the day, my to-do list, my emotions — and I burst into tears. Talking through things with my partner, one thing became clear to me: I really wanted another fuck. A really hard fuck.

We started by working out some details about non-fuck related things, I suppose so they wouldn’t distract me. And then he told me to go to the bedroom and take off my clothes.

I don’t know if it was because he wasn’t as hard as he could have been or because my cunt felt like a bottomless pit of want, but he gave me the hardest pounding I’ve had and I still wanted more, more, more. It never felt like too much; that surprised me a little.

When it was my turn to get off, the orgasm was good and yet I still wanted more, though neither of us were sufficiently motivated to do anything about it. It evened out my mood for the rest of the day, even if I wasn’t entirely satisfied…

e[lust] #67

E[lust] is a monthly digest of sex bloggers, and I’ve got a submission in this month! Links are organized by category – go check them out.


Photo courtesy of Rebels Notes

Welcome to Elust #67

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #68? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out thispetition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Yes, Squirting is Real (And it’s not pee.)

These men make me SO angry

Still Kinky After All These Years

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

When It Rains
You want me to read what?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Due to technical difficulties there is no Readers Choice selection this month

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How to Make Time for Kinky Fuckery
Submissive Power Is Hot Stuff
Topping from the Bottom
Property Milestone
Dead Heat
Submissive power and the storms of life
I Talk A Lot, But Not About That
I Just Want To Be Me
What I Get Out Of Locking A Man in Chastity
BDSM and pick-up artists

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Socks and Sex
Marsala? The Color of My Panties? Who Knew?

Erotic Fiction

Short Strokes: Molasses Makes Me Horny
12 Step Homeopathic Remedy for Scorned Lovers
Alice’s Wonderland
Feel His Breath On Me
Out For A Walk
Playing in the Band
Coming Pretty
The Fall
Erotica After Hours
Dancing in the Dark

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Make Love to Me
I Used to Fake Orgasms. This is Why I Stopped


Brigitta – A Lusty Limerick

Erotic Non-Fiction

With a very sharp knife
black bra and g-string
Meeting Slave Olive for a Cash Point Meet
When Two Doms Play…Fuck Tender!

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overcoming my fear of cock

For a long time, in my mind “cock = bad”, or perhaps more specifically “dangerous”. I had absorbed the idea that a cock was a source of bad things, including degradation.

When I started having sex, this idea proved to be a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Deep down, I mostly didn’t want sex. My body knew this but my brain didn’t acknowledge it, and so it was uncomfortable or actively hurt (because I was tense and not wet) and it didn’t provide me with any particularly pleasurable sensations. I just didn’t get the point. In addition to the fact that I tend to be a little squeamish about bodily fluids, I was also a little paranoid about cum (and even pre-cum) because that’s the stuff that ruins lives by making babies.

When I was about 10, I learned about blowjobs from a photo in a magazine belonging to my friend’s older brother. It made me uncomfortable and I found it degrading (although I probably didn’t even understand that word yet).

The first blowjob I ever performed was for the perpetually demanding and insensitive Bad Boy. He worked me over and pestered and I eventually allowed myself to be talked into it, but I didn’t really want to do it even while I was doing it. Nothing awful happened (I don’t think he even got off), but being pressured served to reinforce my distaste for the whole business.

The first (and, for years, only) time I went down on my partner was during our early days. I’d bought a flavoured condom for the occasion, which served to make me feel safer even if it didn’t add anything directly to the aesthetic experience. He didn’t pressure me in any way, but I pressured myself. He remembers it fondly — me, not so much, but that’s nothing to do with him and everything to do with me not listening to my gut.

I had always considered it to be an inherently degrading act. When I read That Book and started considering hard and soft limits, I knew fellatio was a hard limit for me, although I appreciated the fact that it was depicted positively. It’s one thing to see this in erotic fiction, but when I began reading women (mostly bloggers, such as Hyacinth) who truly enjoy cock, it was a revelation.

I was not interested in cock, nor did I much want to touch or handle one. If my partner asked and I was feeling sufficiently brave, I would touch him over his underwear. I felt that this touching was something I should do but wasn’t always able to do. The only way to honor his request for attention involved pushing myself. Not good.

But it occurred to me recently that I had an excessively firm boundary about any kind of touch. He had earned my trust a long time ago, but I only realized it recently. When I began deliberately trusting him, it changed the dynamic radically. Instead of fretting about a violation and thus vigilantly policing the boundary (believing this was the only way to keep myself safe), I now figure out where the boundary is and let him know, then leave it to him to respect it and he does. I’ve chosen to remove the wall and be vulnerable and am rewarded with more intimacy. It’s fucking awesome.

I’ve been consciously working on expanding my boundaries while conscientiously respecting my gut. Sometimes I touch his cock simply because I feel like it — he has repeatedly assured me that he will always welcome it, so I don’t fear rejection. If he requests it, I understand that he’s not trying to pressure me. I also don’t pressure myself — if it doesn’t feel right in the moment, I go with my gut and say no. No big deal.

I started testing ideas by fantasizing about them and was pleasantly surprised when these (previously challenging, even distasteful) thoughts actually turned me on, which told me I was on the right track. Now the ideas seem merely “naughty” (and fun), rather than “bad” (and unfun). From touching with lips and cheek, to licking and kissing, I accomplished my first freely and lovingly given blowjob a few days ago. A milestone!


A long time ago, I had come to associate platonic touch from my partner (even hugs) with foreplay. Any touch therefore seemed unsafe because I was afraid it would inevitably lead to sex, which was somewhere I usually didn’t want to go.

I eventually plateaued at a reasonably comfortable place where I could easily accept a hug or a neck rub.

I recently discovered something new: I like being touched.

These days, in the morning, he’s usually on the computer already by the time I get out of bed. The first thing I do is go and visit him; I’ll be wearing an oversized T-shirt without a bra, and maybe a pair of yoga pants, or maybe nothing at all on the bottom. I’ll put my elbows on the table, and it happens that this makes my bum stick out and my breasts hang, hidden but still enticing. He’ll usually give me some pats and squeezes, and maybe a couple of spanks and some fondling. And then I’ll go and put some clothes on. This has become my wake-up routine.

More recently, I find that when we’re lying in bed either falling asleep or waking up, I just want him touching me all over: head, shoulder, breast, hip, bottom. It’s all good. I don’t expect sex to follow necessarily, though I don’t mind if it does.

I’m not afraid of touch now because I’m no longer afraid of starting something. I’m more in tune with what I want and I’m not afraid to express it because he has proven repeatedly that he’ll respect any limit I may set. I don’t have to defend myself: the line is defined by my words and held by his respect for me, and so I can finally, finally let my guard down.

I crave touch. I ask for it. I get it.