Month: November 2015

The Good Girl’s Guide to Getting What You Want

faster pussycat

You know, the Rolling Stones will tell you that ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’….and they are mistaken.

As much as I love Mick and the boys…they got this one wrong.  You can get what you want.  You just need to know how to ask for it.  And I am here to help you…

There are those types who are able to learn things the easy way.  They read instruction manuals.  They change their air filters every 30 days.  They even check the batteries in their smoke detectors on a regular basis.  They tend to make well-informed decisions.  They color in the lines.  This type of person usually understands what they want and they take the well-traveled, well-lit, path of least resistance towards their goal.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with this type of persona.  I admire them.  I wish I could be more like them.  But I fall into a completely different category.

I have to figure out what I don’t want to understand what I do want.  I must take the long route to my destination. I need to sample everything on the menu to figure out what tastes good.  And I have certainly done that in my love life.  Did it and loved it.  Did and it and liked it.  Did it and thought…what the hell was I thinking???

It has taken me quite a while to embrace who I am.  Over the years I have kissed many princes, a few princesses and a ton of frogs…but I emerged from the disheveled beds of lovers past to find my true self.  I share this with you to illustrate that it may take you time and trial and error to figure out what you like.  It is not always an easy path, but the destination is well worth the journey.

There are few scenarios that led me to this place of self-discovery (which spiraled me into self-indulgence…but we will save that for another post). From an early age, I knew I was different than my friends, with a different perspective on life and a much more liberal but grounded view of sex.  I knew I wanted to try everything.  I wanted to know what felt good.  How to make my partner feel good.  And in this quest, I longed to take risks.  Whether it was sex in a public place.  Sex with more than one.  Sex for hire.  I knew I wanted to live on the edge.  I guess you could say that I am my own version of an adrenaline junkie.   The lesson here for me, the underlying theme…I like the thrill of the risk.  I like to teeter on the edge of danger.

How do you ask your lover for danger?  How do you translate this need into your ‘day-to-day romp in the hay’?  How do you verbalize that you want to be choked to the brink of unconsciousness, without them looking at you like you are an alien life form?  Without them worrying they could hurt you?  How do you ask him to carve his initials in your flesh, without him stealing a side glance to look for his getaway car?  The answer is simple.


Choose a partner whose demons play well with your demons.  For all of us kinky motherfuckers out there…this means, make sure their kinks align with your kinks.  It is likely that two sadists won’t play well together.  Not to say they couldn’t…it’s just that one person may walk away hungry, while the other is full…when both should be sated.  Do you feel me?  Not saying you should dump your mate if they’re not into what you’re in to…but look for the compromise.  What’s the common ground?  Maybe he is not comfortable with breath play that involves his hands around your throat…but he is turned on by gagging you with his cock deep in your throat.  For those of us who like breath play, this may work as a great compromise.  He likes.  You like.  Everyone is happy.

Communicate openly and honestly with your partner.  This can be difficult.  What if you want something that you are afraid to verbalize to anyone…even your lover?  And that risk of rejection and humiliation keeps you from uttering the words…Take for example, my fascination with knives, needles and sharp objects.  I am not a cutter.  I have never tried self-mutilation or anything of that nature, however, I find it erotic to have my lover “puncture” my skin.  It’s about giving up the control to another..the manifestation of release as the point breaks my skin.  And I enjoy watching the wound heal.  (For any shrinks reading this…I may need to privately message you).  This is something I like, but rarely engage in with my One.  He is not comfortable cutting me, as we have tried it, however, he is adept at inflicting just enough pain and puncture with the Wartenberg wheel, for me to be satisfied.  It works out.  And I am happy.

Stay present and in the moment.  This can be challenging for some..myself included.  There are usually about ten random thoughts buzzing about in my brain at any given time.  When I am being fucked, my head isn’t always in the game.  Not that it’s not good…it could be that it is very good and I am trying to figure out what is making it so good, so it can be repeated. But get out of your own way…relax and enjoy the moment.  Relish in the pleasure.  Don’t try to over-analyze.  Just learn what feels good.  And then tell your partner.  (You could even take it to another level and add in some dirty talk)   When they know you like something, they are more apt to do it.

Let go.  Let go of all of the bullshit.  Let go of your doubts.  Embrace your beauty.  Embrace your body.  The softness of your skin, the warmth of your breath, the wetness of your sex.  Let go of your hang-ups.  Evict the negativity from your brain, and indulge in the pleasure.  Let go of your fears. If there’s something you want, ASK FOR IT.  You will know when the time is right.  Tell your lover your fantasies.  Lose the fear of rejection or judgement.  You may need to learn how to translate your desires in a way they can understand.  I often talk about my fantasies as a lead in to foreplay.  As he kisses my neck and I know where we are headed, I may whisper in his ear, “I want to feel your warm load all over my face tonight.  I’ve been thinking about it.  How I would look.  I want you to take a picture so I can enjoy it too.” Yes…that is a little risque for some.  And it may not be your cup of tea…but this was something I wanted.  And guess what?  I got it.  (I really got it.  And on a side note, be careful and don’t get it in your eyes.  It burns.)

It Is a Two-Way Street.  The best way to get what you want is to give.  Give your partner what he wants.  Learn what he likes and give it freely.  And before you over-think this concept, remember the art of compromise.  He may whisper in your ear that he has always wanted to see you with another woman.  And this may be something you are not willing to do.  It may not appeal to you at all.  Now what?  I am pretty open to this idea, but would be hesitant to act on it.  I mean where does one randomly find another woman willing to play with you and your mate for an evening…that doesn’t cost you a fortune?  With that being said…if I were in this situation, I would ask him to open up about what he wants to see and take it from there.  “I want to watch another woman make you cum.  I want to see her face buried in your sweet pussy.  I want to watch you lose control.”  Even if the fantasy was not possible, I would respond with something like this…”I can feel her soft lips on my nipples (as I fondled my breasts) moving down to my sweet spot.  Her long hair tickles my legs and her mouth is wet and warm on my skin. (I would begin touching myself for him to see).  Tell me what you want to happen next.”  Acting out this scenario (without the other woman) helps to give him the fantasy without making you uncomfortable.  It may or may not be enough for him.  Regardless of what happens next, you have responded to his needs.  You have listened to his desires without judgement.  He feels comfortable sharing what he wants with you…which opens the door for you to share what you desire.  It’s a win-win.  Not all fantasies come to fruition.  And that’s okay.  


Just remember this…there are very few mind readers out there.  It’s probable that neither you nor your lover have this superpower.  Simplify.  Just say what you want.  Listen to what they are saying to you.  Be responsive.  Go all in, or find the compromise that satisfies you both.

Now go forth, kinky motherfuckers.  Go get what you want.



“Real” Sex-The Eyes Have It

It’s pretty obvious that I am one naughty girl, with quite a bit of experience under her skirt.  I’ve seen and done it all (well, most of it) and lived to tell my tawdry tales, here with you.  My goal is to be as detailed as possible, not to leave out any tempting tidbits for you to savor.  It goes along with being a bit of an exhibitionist, I want to share it all with you.

Being honest and transparent, there are things I do leave out.  Most of what I omit is minor and would not affect the story in any way, shape, or form. To keep it concise, I leave out details that serve only to drag out the story line.  Things I consider to be “fluff”.  And well…some details…they are funny as hell!  I’ve left most of these out of my raucous recollections, because I did not want to detract from the debauchery of my torrid tales.  But there are some scenarios that are worth sharing.  So I have decided (with some encouragement from my soul sister, Lennon Carlyle) to share the funny shit that’s happened along the way.  For those following along at home, these undignified gems will now appear in a new category called, “Real” Sex.

Here goes…“Real” Sex-The Eyes Have It

There was the bodybuilder I met at the gym…Tony.  The married one.  We had a fling for almost a year.  He would often ask me to wear something specific for the evenings we got together.  It may be a short skirt.  Or maybe thigh highs.  Or maybe he would ask me to go commando.  One particular evening he asked me to wear a short dress and heels.  I complied. I wore a tight, form-fitting black sheath that proudly displayed my assets, with my highest black strappy stilettos.  I’d just had my hair cut and it looked fabulous.  My full, pouty lips were harlot red.  But I couldn’t stop there.  I decided to “vamp” it up a bit more by wearing some false eyelashes.  These black beauties evolved my look from hot co-ed, to Sex Goddess.  I was stunning in my ensemble (sans panties) and walked into his place like I owned the joint.

I could tell he was impressed.  He looked me over and then…out of nowhere, he tied my hands behind my back with cable ties.  He whispered in my ear, “I am going to fuck you till you can’t walk tomorrow, baby.  You knew you were going to get it…coming over here, looking so damn sexy.  I am going to give it all to you.”  He lifted my dress, spread my legs open and began an evening of decadent pleasure.  He had me bent over his leather couch, face down-ass up, as he took control of me and took me over and over.  His endurance was unbelievable and the man just kept fucking me.  No breaks to change position.  No coming up for air.  He ravaged me like the slut I was, without mercy. And I loved it.  By the time he finally had an orgasm, the back of my dress was up around my shoulders, my hands (still behind my back) were almost numb, my legs were shaking and I was practically balancing on my head on his couch.  My newly coiffed hair was a sweaty, sopping mess and it was stuck in long strands, to my face.  But nevertheless, I was quite pleased with myself for taking such a pummeling, hands bound, in heels, without ever flinching.

He had been so into the moment that he didn’t realize that I was helplessly suspended like that on his couch.  He quickly tended to me and cut the cable ties, freeing my wrists.  He pulled me out of that awkward position (I had been unable to move because of how my arms were restrained) and flipped me over to face him.  He pulled the hair from my face and then….

In a look of absolute shock and horror…he backed away, as if he was startled by something.  I felt my face and realized that in the intensity of our fuck-fest, the eyelashes on my right eye had come off of my eyelid and found themselves stuck to my upper cheek…just under my eye.

I looked like Alex from “A Clockwork Orange”


I peeled them off of my cheek and we laughed our asses off.  While we sat there, I went ahead and pulled the other one off because I could sense he was preparing for another round.  And no sooner had I removed the lashes…that he removed my dress and it was on again….and again.

And here’s a detail worth sharing…he had me keep the heels on.

heels in bed

By the time I left his place, the once gorgeous Sex Goddess looked like a brunette Cyndi Lauper on crack…hair matted to one side…runny makeup…remnants of eyelash glue on her face. But that’s okay.  It was a good night and.after all, as Cyndi says…

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun…

Oh yes, they do.  

View From the Top…

I’ve been a bad, bad girl.

For most of my life.  At least for the last 30 years.

There have been so many (so very many) tantalizing trysts in my past, that I find myself forgetting about some of them.  And then, all of the sudden, I am transported back to a different time and place.

Just like that.

During lunch today, I drove through downtown.  My city is rather small and the downtown area is less than impressive, although they do try to “revitalize” it about every ten years.  The sun was shining.  The air was crisp. it was a gorgeous fall day.  I breathed in the air and began to reminisce about some of the fun times I’d had downtown. Then my jaunt downtown turned into a trip down memory lane.

It was the summer of 1991.  I was working in a pharmacy while attending college.  I had more suitors than I could keep track of.  A few remnant boyfriends from high school.  A few older gents, some married, that I saw from time to time.  A handful of college guys that wanted more than a study date.  Life was good.  I could take my pick any day of the week. I was never without a date, if I wanted one.

And then there was Vernon.  Yes…his name was Vernon.  He sat next to me in my Microeconomics class.  He was attractive and smart…and a bit cocky.  He wore a tie to class each and every day…even in the hot Southern summer.  He dressed better than the professor.  He set his sights on me and was relentless in his pursuit.

I declined his offer to “study” together.  I declined his offer for coffee.  I declined his offer for lunch.  But he was not deterred.  He was a nice guy, and for me…that was the issue.  I didn’t want a “nice” guy.  I wanted the bad boy…or better yet, the bad man.  And Vernon wasn’t my type.  But finally, one day I decided to take him up on coffee.  I was shocked  because we really hit it off.  His anal-retentive ways blended well with my fly-by-the-seat of my g-string ways.  His uptight demeanor was a nice complement to my free-spirited attitude.

We went out on a few dates and he was the perfect gentleman.  (And always dressed like he was on his way to a corporate meeting)  Things progressed at a snail’s pace and I found myself becoming bored with him.  I had my “exit speech” planned and was about to let him down easy, when I saw a glimmer of hope.  He was driving and looked over at me with a devious smile.

“Let’s take a drive.” he said.  There was a confidence in his voice that was sexy.  He then pulled in behind a Sherwin Williams paint store.  He worked there.  We parked in a place that could not be seen from the road and he began kissing me.  His tie came off.  And then my shirt.  All of my clothes.  All of his clothes.  We fucked on the trunk of his car and he wasn’t that bad.  The guy had some chops.  I could tell I was more experienced than he, but I still had a good time.

We fucked often, usually in his car or on his car.  And then one evening, after dining downtown, we took a drive up a winding parking garage at the Bank of America building.  Although I enjoyed our time together, I was becoming bored with our typical routine.  He wanted us to stay in the car, since we were on top of the parking garage, in plain sight.  I decided to take control of the scenario and insisted we get out of the car.  We put a blanket down on the parking spot beside us.  I pulled his pants off and sucked him right there in the open.  I told him to lie down on the blanket.  I wanted to control him.  I felt the beast inside me clawing to come out.

Channeling my inner Domme, I mounted his cock and fucked him as if he were my sex slave.  I paid no mind to his needs. I rode him furiously.  Ramming my body with his body with each movement.  Harder and harder.  I was high on the adrenaline.  I was high on making him…the anal-retentive, uptight Vernon…my bitch.  I used him for my pleasure.  When I felt he was close to orgasm, I would stop.  I wasn’t finished with him and didn’t want him to cum until I was ready.  I honestly cannot even remember if he said anything, or protested when I made him wait.  But I didn’t care.  He was mine.  His cock was there for my pleasure.

My knees were getting sore, as the blanket had moved exposing my skin to the bare concrete.  I quickened my pace and we came together.  In the aftermath I noticed abrasions on both my knees from our intense session.  I didn’t care. The inner beast craved pleasure and nothing kept me from my goal.  Looking back, I was in a very dark place.  If ever I was a sadist, it was then.

We were quiet on the drive home.  The beast began to retreat and I morphed back into myself again.  We kissed goodnight.  After I got home, I took a shower and tended to my poor bruised knees.  I felt a sense of pride from my battle scars.  It represented a different version of me…one I’d yet to embrace.  I liked it.

The next day, Vernon wasn’t in class.  He never missed class.  NEVER.  I worried that something was wrong.  On a break between classes I used the phone in the library and called him.  There was no answer.  Later that day, I called his work and they told me he wasn’t there…he was in the hospital.  WHAT???  Had he been in a wreck on the way home?  What happened to Vernon?

His co-worker told me which hospital and I called his room.  Vernon answered.

“Hey.  What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m okay.  Just had a tear from last night.”

I was puzzled.  A tear?  What could he have “torn”?  After all, I was the one with the bloody knees.

He whispered into the phone so the patient in the other bed couldn’t hear him, “You fucked me too hard last night.   You split me and I am in so much pain, I can’t pee.  They have me on pain medicine.  They are sending me home soon and said I will be okay in a couple of days.  But we can’t do that again”

I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked and embarrassed.  I apologized and then tried to relive the evening in my mind.  As I reviewed it, I remembered hearing him moan.  I remembered hearing him beg me to stop. I was so consumed with lust.  So consumed with my pleasure, that I didn’t care.

Our relationship fizzled immediately afterwards.  I think he was a bit “gun-shy” after that incident.  I felt terrible.  I would never want to put anyone in the hospital.  I resolved to never venture into “Domme-mode” ever again.  Then, a few weeks later…a fellow classmate and I were chatting, when she said, “He’s such an asshole.  Plays like he is all about business, like he’s a nice guy.  He is all about who he can screw.”

I was surprised that anyone would ever say anything like that about the super straight, squeaky clean Vernon, I knew.  She went on to say, “He pretends to be so nice, but treats women like shit. He begged me to go out with him and about 3 dates into it, he got forceful with me.  When I broke up with him, he talked about me terribly.  Such a jerk.”

And just like that…I no longer felt bad for injuring him.

In fact, I laughed out loud.  And today, as I drove past that parking garage, I laughed again.  Poor Vernon.

Wonder if he still wears a tie everyday?

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