Carnal Knowledge

The Connoisseur

lollipop

For the last three decades, I have managed to tangle myself in some precarious predicaments.  Most of these sordid scenarios involved a man, or men (note the shift to plural) and sex was always on tap.  Quite honestly I stopped keeping a numeric record of my conquests many years ago.  It was too taxing to place a number on each of them.  So instead, I began keeping a mental “top ten” list.

Today, I would like to dish on my top cocks.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I know…how crude.  But let me just cut to the chase…I love cock.  I worship cock.  Over the years I have had them in all shapes and sizes.  You could say that I have become a bit of a connoisseur (or “cockisseur”) from my vast experience.  I study them.  I learn from them.  To this day, every time I pleasure my One, I learn something new.  A new trick.  A new sensation.  A new way to please Him more.  And believe me, I am always hungry and thirsty for knowledge.

Let’s start this countdown of my most memorable members, with those who packed some serious heat.  It’s often said that “size doesn’t matter” and I couldn’t agree more.  However…there is something to be experienced when you are stretched and filled to capacity.  When every movement is a reminder of their impressive stature.  And let me clarify before I go any further…these are not my top ten lovers.  I am only talking about cock.  A person could be hung like a Derby winner, but have the sex skills of Sheldon.

Which brings me to…the doctor.  Not a medical doctor, but rather a PhD (note, the D stands for DICK).  I met him online.  He lived on the coast about 2 hours from me.  He coaxed me to visit him one weekend.  Prior to that we talked for weeks and exchanged photos.  He was average looking, but seemed like a nice guy.  As our conversations progressed, he sent me a picture of his impressive cock.  And I honestly thought he had photo-shopped it, or copied a pic online.  So I wasn’t expecting much.  He was more average looking than his pic and quite short…but DAMN.  His dick was huge.  And he had a piercing.  I’d never experienced anything like that.  He fucked me on his balcony in broad open daylight and I am sure anyone in a two mile radius heard me.  Every thrust made me gasp in ecstasy.  But he couldn’t hold a conversation.  He had very peculiar eating habits, and acted like Rain Man in the restaurant.  He was just a bit weird and socially awkward.  I realized quickly that we would never go any further than the weekend.  All I wanted was the sex…so we stopped trying to talk, we stopped trying to connect and we fucked until we both passed out, woke up and then, we fucked again.

There were a few others that fall into “The Heat Packers” category.  There was the older gentleman, who was into BDSM and introduced me to caning. (Such fond memories) He was quite a bit older than he professed, and I was initially put off by it.  I don’t like deception.  I almost backed out of our encounter, until I saw what he was packing.  This senior had a cock the size of my forearm and he was quite savvy with using it.  He was an expert in Tantric sex and he taught this little girl a thing or two…or ten.  I felt like I gushed every time he pushed himself inside me.

There was the retired NFL player.  I had never seen anything like Mr. Johnson’s Johnson.  I salivated from both sets of lips.  I didn’t know if I wanted to mount him or suck him first.  I just knew…I wanted him inside me.  And I left his place that night with TMJ from having to open my mouth so wide…and I could barely walk.  For DAYS.  Moral of the story…you can have too much of a good thing.

Enough of the big stuff…let’s dish on the others.  There was “Captain Hook” whose cock had an actual curve to it, to the left.  I was disappointed when I first saw it thinking it wouldn’t hit the right spots.  Boy…was I wrong.  The “hook” hooked me.  He understood how to use the curve to his advantage.  And I had another one whose member curved upwards.  That was another fun time.  And was especially hot when we did anal. It was the perfect blend of pleasure and pain.

There are the “pretty boys” whose cocks were a work of art.  If I possessed artistic flair, these are the ones I would have sketched, framed and put in my living room on display…on a fucking gallery wall.  The one that comes to mind is the drill instructor whose face and physique were a work of art…and when he dropped trou, I saw the clouds part and heard angels sing.  His cock was perfection.  Smooth.  Nice girth.  Perfect length.  The head was well-defined and fit snugly in my throat.  I loved to worship him.  I loved looking at his perfect member.  I loved how he fucked me.

There was my college boyfriend.  He had a beautiful dick.  He was ahead of the times and was clean shaven before it became popular and his cock was long and smooth.  It was very long.  He was 6’4 and his member was a representation of his long stature.  I remember how he would wake me up in the morning, already inside me.  I have never enjoyed a wake-up call as much I did then.

There are the “don’t judge the book by the cover” ones.  As I mentioned earlier in the post, I was surprised by how some of the most unassuming ones, were packing heat.  There were those who were absolutely incognito.  There was the detective.  He was a client of mine, when I worked for the escort service.  I was a bit worried when I realized he was in law enforcement…and thought…well, here goes, I’ll be in jail by midnight.  But he truly just wanted to fuck someone who was not as inhibited as his dowdy little wife.  He wore glasses and looked the part of a nerd.  Not judging ( I love a nerd) and I thought…okay, let’s get this over with.  I was surprised, he had a very nice dick.  Well-proportioned.  And once clothes were off, he lost his nerd-like demeanor and handled his business.  He paid for an extra hour and even fucked me in the ass. He was confident because he was aware of his manhood.  And on the flip side…there was the triathlete who had some serious swagger.  I was anticipating a wild romp in the hay…but not the case.  His endurance was limited to athletics and I wondered if he had used steroids.  We will just leave it at that.

So to recap…I have had my share of surprises, disappointments and more than my fair share of learning along the way.  One thing is I am and always will be enamored with the male anatomy.  It’s certainly not penis-envy, but rather pure adoration and appreciation of cock.  And on that note, I will close.

Think it’s time to “adore and appreciate” someone…

the goods

(Photo credits, Pinterest)

The Experience

Summer was hot that year. Scorching and unapologetic, much like my new state of mind. Outwardly, I remained cloaked within the confines of social norms, but internally, I was a savage. It was my personal season of exploration and I ached to experience more.

For several months, I’d toyed with online dating.  I’d been pleasantly surprised on a few occasions and gravely disappointed by most of the others.  It was a random hodge-podge of men.  All ages with a host of diverse backgrounds.  They carried with them different baggage but mostly hummed the same tune.  It was exhausting.

Dates were always painful. The small-talk. The formality. The awkwardness. Hearing their story. Sharing my story. And then sitting there as they chatted on…inwardly doing a quick analysis to determine when the evening would end. I rarely showed who I was on these first meetings.  Sometimes, I would feel like taking them on a test drive, but usually the night ended with a fleeting kiss in the restaurant parking lot.

There were a select few whose online profiles roped me in (no pun intended).  Knowing what I wanted to explore, I sought out a certain “tone” the profile. I wanted a self-assured, intelligent man who was open-minded and a bit dark. I messaged with a few who turned out to be far too nice for me.  Then I received a message from a gentleman that intrigued me, so I perused his profile. There were dark undertones throughout.  I responded to his message with a playful tone and he responded accordingly. We chatted online for a few days when he closed one of his messages with a bold statement that demanded my attention…

“Tess, as much as I enjoy our chats, let’s cut the bullshit and be real because I sense something different in you.  I know you feel it in me. What do you want from all of this?”

I read the message several times prior to responding.  I knew who I was, but how do I express that to him.  What if he thinks I am perverse? Deviant? And then I grew a pair and thought…fuck it.  If he’s not into it…I will move on as I have every other time.

“If I am being authentic and real with you…I have just discovered that I enjoy pain, intense situations and I crave feeling vulnerable and exposed to my lover.  And yourself?”

“Thanks for your honesty.  I think we may be a good match…I am the beast that will tear you apart and put you back together again.  I have felt you were keeping this from me and I am glad we know who we are. I would like to take you to lunch next week.  When are you free?”

Free?  That’s an interesting concept. I decided to further my reveal and answer him in a figurative way.

“I am free when I am bound.  I am free when I push through my limits.  I am free when I relinquish control to one capable of taking me to the dark places in my soul. And I am free on Thursday.”

“How long is your lunch hour?”

“I only work a half-day this Thursday, so it can be as long as it needs to be.”

“Good. I will be see you then.”

Thursday arrived and we decided to have lunch at my place. It was rare that I had the house to myself and I wanted to do naughty, kinky things in my own bed.  At noon, my doorbell rang.  I answered to find him standing there with a dozen long-stemmed white roses.  He was tall and lean and much older than I’d realized  I knew he was retired, but age never came up in conversation, as it was irrelevant.  It was still irrelevant.

I went to the kitchen to put the flowers in water and to check on lunch.  I’d prepared a tomato quiche for us to eat and it was almost done.  After I pulled the quiche from the oven, he made his move towards me.

“I am not hungry for quiche, Tessa. I want you.  I want to devour you.”

I faced him and peering into his blue eyes I said, “Consume me.”

My clothes ended up in a trail between the kitchen and my bedroom. I was completely naked. He asked me to get on the bed, on all fours. I did and then I noticed something…I’d been distracted by the flowers at his arrival and neglected to see the bag he’d brought in with him.  I heard him unzip it and walk towards me.

“Put your ass up, Tess.  Expose yourself to me.”

I did as he instructed, expecting a repeat of what happened with the sadist.  Instead, I felt his warm mouth on my lips as he licked me from front to back. He had a firm grip on my hips as he went about his task with great fervor.  I felt myself edging towards an orgasm, and he placed no restrictions on me.  I came furiously in a fast frenzy of delight. He emerged and said, “Hold still.  We are about to try something new.”

I felt the sting of the wooden birch rod across my exposed backside and I liked it.  He followed the first blow with another…and another.  “Tessa, this is a birch, it’s like a form of caning.  Tell me how it feels.”

I was enjoying the sting of each blow and answered, “It hurts a little, but I like it. No broken skin, right?”

“No broken skin at all. But I am enjoying seeing the stripes on your ass.” And we carried on for a bit.  He changed it up with a newly purchased riding crop.  I LOVED the sting of the leather crop.  I moaned in delight with each blow.  I loved the sound of it.  The feel of the leather on my skin. My entire backside was hot from the taste of the crop. He reached up to finger my hole and said, “My god you are so wet. You are aroused pain, aren’t you?”

He was right.  My body didn’t lie…I loved it.  He rolled me over on my back and devoured my dripping wetness. His face glistened as he emerged to kiss my mouth. He’d remained dressed up to this point.  It was one of his kinks…me totally naked, him fully dressed.  It was sexy.

“After tasting you, I cannot wait to feel you.”

He removed his belt and looked at me with a sinister grin.  I was a bit scared that he would use the belt on me later, but he didn’t.  He undressed and stood before me. He was very (VERY) well-endowed and his large cock was almost too much for me.  Each time he pushed himself inside me, I felt like I would cum immediately.  He instructed me to tell him when I was close to an orgasm.  And I felt like I was there every few seconds.  He was slow and deliberate. Together, we devised an intimate rhythm. And the orgasms were incredible.  I noticed that he enjoyed watching my face as I climaxed as he carefully studied each expression.

“I love watching you cum for me.  Next time, I want you to concentrate on looking into my eyes when you have an orgasm. I want to see into your soul.”

He went on to explain his theory that when someone orgasms, they are at their most basic and honest self. They shed facades and expectations.  They revert back to a primal version of themselves. He wanted to look into my eyes as I revealed myself to him.

It was difficult for me, because that is a truly vulnerable place. But this was part of my journey, revealing myself in a vulnerable way.  He expertly compelled another orgasm and my gaze locked into his. I came unglued, but held my position.  He saw it all.  All of me…as my breath quickened and my body shook in ecstasy…my eyes held his.

We carried on in this fashion for what seemed like hours.  He positioned me as he pleased, having his way with my body. I was completely surrendered to him. I guess I could best describe our encounter as Tantric.  It was as much spiritual as it was sexual.

After several hours, we were spent. We shared my bed and talked about our experience together. He was a retired philosophy professor and I loved listening to his take on things.  He felt our connection was on a mystical level. And I would have to agree. It was a depth of physical/spiritual connection that I’d not had before.  Sure I’d been with lovers that I connected with, some I truly loved.  But this felt different.  As crazy as it sounds, it felt holy.

We parted ways on that hazy Thursday and we’ve never ventured into that realm again.  Distance and opportunity have been fleeting.  I am sure our stars will realign someday.  In the meantime, we are still close friends and confidants. He has proven to be one of my best friends giving me one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.

Once again, I was revealed as I searched for the enlightenment I craved.

gazing

No Turning Back

It was the summer of 2014 and I was on a journey to sexual freedom and enlightenment. I’d always been adventurous, but my tastes were evolving. I traveled this winding and treacherous road at full speed. The experience was exhilarating and terrifying. I could have taken a turn onto a safer road, or I could have slowed my speed.  Instead, I went faster. There was a deep, insatiable need to go further into the abyss.

And the sadist was happy to take me there. Into the darkness.

We spoke everyday after our first encounter. Sometimes we would talk for hours. Other days we would have brief chats. We were becoming close. I began to understand more about him and he learned more and more about me. He was in my head. I longed to see him again.  We made plans a couple of times, but life got in the way.

One Sunday morning I received a text, “Come to me. Today.”

I was surprised. I replied, “Where?”

“I will send you the info as soon as I check into the hotel.  I will see you around 4:00.  It will be close to where you are.  Make arrangements to stay over, if possible.”

That was a challenge.  With three kids, almost impossible.

I sent a response, “I will do my best to stay as long as I can. I am excited to see you…and a little scared.”

His response, “Don’t be scared. Same rules apply as last time with safewords. Text me when you have made arrangements.”

I called my babysitter and came up with a reason to be gone for several hours.  I knew an overnight was out of the question.  She agreed to come over at 3:00. I texted to let him know. I finished up everything I needed to do for the week (my typical Sunday routine) and readied myself for another session with the sadist.

At 3:30 I received a text, “Room 432, Marriott.  Be here by 4:15”

I felt nervous and yet relaxed as I drove to meet him.  I didn’t know what to expect from our second session, but I didn’t feel any real trepidation about meeting him again. I pulled into the parking garage and made my way up to his room.  I was wearing a black and white, body-hugging dress and strappy wedge sandals.  My skin was tan from a recent visit to the beach and I’d just had my hair highlighted. I’d straightened it, to change things up. I approached the room and as I knocked, he opened the door and snatched me into the room.

He stood behind me, pressing my face into the wall. His voice was strong and assertive, “I said, 4:15, slut.  It’s 4:17.  Turn around and face me.”

I peeled my face from the wall and faced him.  He looked agitated. I felt a sense of panic.  My voice was wobbly as I began to apologize, “I am sor..”

And before I could say the last syllable, I felt the sting of his open hand on my cheek.  I was shocked. I’d never been slapped in the face. And before I could mutter another word, he slapped my face again. Tears began streaming down my face as I tried to regain my composure.  My mind raced and I wanted to say my safeword, but I felt paralyzed by fear.

“Your tears are what I want. It’s so fucking sexy. Cry for me. Cry more for me.”

I was shaking in my skin, as I didn’t know what would come next.  I finally managed to verbalize a sentence and said, “I put no hitting in the face on my questionnaire. Why did you hit me like that?”

And holding my tear-stained face he looked into my eyes and grinned at me.  “You are so beautiful when you let yourself go. When you allow yourself to be vulnerable.”

I didn’t care what he thought because he violated my limits. “But I said not to hit me in the face. Please don’t do that again.”

He just smiled at me as he led me to the bed.  I questioned whether or not to go any further. I was so shaken by what had just happened that I did feel the trust I’d felt during our first meeting.  He could sense that I was on the brink of leaving.

“I know I should not have done that, and I sincerely apologize, Tess.  Your tears arouse me and I became too excited when I saw you.  I didn’t want to wait for you to give them to me. I wanted them now. Please forgive me.”

It seemed like a sincere apology so I reluctantly decided to stay.  He slowly undressed me, taking his time as he purposefully peeled off every piece of my clothing. He pulled my hair back as he removed my earrings and necklace. “I have some other ‘jewelry’ to put on you, Beautiful”  I stood naked in front of him and as he placed silver nipple clamps on my nipples. There was an adorned chain that connected them, and he gave it a tug to make sure it was secure.  He had me lie down on the bed placing the cuffs on my wrists, looping red silk rope through to tie my wrists to my ankles. “Open your legs wide and bend your knees up, so I can secure your ankle to your wrist.” The silk rope was soft on my skin and I was bound, open and exposed.  He tugged on the chain as he massaged my clit with the violet wand and again, I was not allowed to orgasm.  I held on for as long as I could and then begged for release.  He finally allowed me to cum.

He blindfolded me and I heard him rummaging through his bag for something.  Not being able to see what was coming added to the excitement.  Soon, I felt the sting of the flogger across my stomach as struck me and then tugged on the clamps. I was helpless and under his control when I heard a faint knock at the door. I panicked, “Who is that at the door? Cover me up please.”

I heard him snicker as he said, “There’s no need to cover you.  The fun is just getting started.”

I heard the door open and could tell someone had walked into the room.  Still blindfolded, I could not make out who it was.  Was it a man? A woman? Why were they here? I was naked, bound, blindfolded and helpless.  I didn’t hear any voices, but I heard what sounded like a wrapper being opened.

“Hurry up and get the condom on.  Fuck the hell out of her.  She wants it rough. She will love your big cock”

I felt every part of my being, freeze.  I was paralyzed with terror. What was happening?  I struggled to find my voice…to scream my safeword…and I couldn’t say anything.  I just lay there, motionless as I felt him push himself inside me.  I then felt someone sit on the bed beside me as I was being taken. I recognized the cologne, it was the sadist. “On the questionnaire, you expressed a real interest in being fucked by a stranger, didn’t you?” his voice was deep and breathy.  “Answer me, now.”

My mind raced as I began doing a mental review of all of my answers.  And it was true. I did have a stranger fantasy.  I managed to find my words, “Yes. I did.”

He moved in closer, hissing in my ear. “Indeed, you did. How does it feel to be fucked by a stranger, Tess? Is it what you wanted? Do you feel scared? Does it feel perverse? How does his cock feel? Talk to me.”

And with that, the terror of the situation began to dissolve.  It was true…I wanted to be taken by a stranger.  I wanted to feel fear.  “Please remove the blindfold and I will tell you everything.”

He pulled the blindfold away and I laid eyes on the man fucking me.  He was younger than I, in his late 20’s.  By his haircut and physique, he seemed military.  We stared into each others eyes as he sank into my wetness.  The sadist was growing impatient, “Talk. I want to know what you are thinking.”

My voice was sultry as I moaned with pleasure. “He feels good.  His cock fills me and I love that I don’t even know his name.  I am tied and helpless and he keeps fucking me as you watch us.”

He seemed pleased with my answer as he quipped at the young stranger, “Fuck her harder. I want to hear her scream.”

The stranger quickened his pace as he pushed further into me. I gasped as he pulled my hips into his, going even deeper. I was close to the edge and I felt the sadist’s hand on my throat.  His grip was strong and I felt myself fading…almost losing consciousness as he released his hold on me and pulled on the nipple clamps.  I moaned from the pain and he pulled again, and again.  The stranger was aroused by my sounds and in a matter of minutes we both exploded.

“You fucked her well.  Now get dressed and leave.” the sadist’s tone was direct.  The young man quickly dressed and walked out.  The sadist turned to me, “How are you, Tess?”

“I’m okay. I have finally calmed down a little, but that was beyond terrifying. Who was he?” I asked.

The sadist smiled and said, “He is someone who owes me a favor.  He is one of my students, in the physician’s assistant program. I knew you’d enjoy him.”

That was a relief. He wasn’t a total stranger and everything was safe. I said, “I did enjoy him, but my legs and wrists are beginning to hurt. Could you please loosen the ropes?” I knew it was a risk, asking him to untie me, but I was really sore. And if he didn’t, I was at the point of saying my safeword.

“Sure. I will loosen them.  In fact, I will take them off.  And then I am going to have my way with you, slut.” He untied me and had me roll over onto my stomach.  From under his pillow he retrieved that huge dildo he’d used on me the first time. “Remember this?” he grinned.

I tensed up as I didn’t know if I could withstand that in addition to what I’d just experienced.  “Yes. How could I forget?” I answered.

“I want to make sure you don’t forget. Open your legs.” I noticed that he had not used any lube, like he did before. I braced myself for the pain.  Instead of putting it in my ass, he pushed into my sore cunt. Pushing it all in with one stroke.  I screamed from the pain and the pleasure.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” he growled as he began to finger my ass.  “I am going to fuck your ass with my cock this time and you will take it until I tell you otherwise.  Got it? Both of your holes will be filled until you can’t take any more.  Don’t beg me to stop because I know how badly you want this.”

He was right. I wanted it all.  I wanted the pain. The torture.  The pleasure.  I wanted him to take it all from me.  The feeling was so intense that I cannot recall when or how we finished.  I think I may have passed out for a minute.  When I came to my senses again, my entire body was shaking and began to weep. It was too much to keep bottled up. I let it go again. Everything. I let it all go.

He held me in a warm embrace until I stopped shaking and came back to my center. I will never understand how an acutely intense sexual experience can purge so much from a person.  After I settled down, I felt energized and free.  I began to recognize that I released emotional pain when I experienced physical pain.  It was beautiful and powerful.

I didn’t linger there, as I needed to get home.  My mind was racing with questions, but I no longer felt confused by my feelings. Once again, I recognized who I was. Walking out of that room, I decided it was the last time I would ever see him. He served his purpose by helping me remove the mask.

And I have never looked back.

walking-away

(Photo credit, Pinterest)

 

 

The “M” Word

I awoke to the sound of a loud knock at the door. Room service. He had ordered enough food for five people and for a moment, I wondered if he planned to return.  But I knew he wouldn’t.  He was giving me space to process.

After what I’d experienced the night before, I should have been starving, almost ravenous.  But I wasn’t that hungry.  I felt sated…in a strange sort of way.  I noshed for a bit on the plates before me and then I ventured into the bathroom for a shower.

I stood there and looked in the mirror and outwardly, I didn’t really look any different. I felt different. I felt more aware. I was beginning to notice an outline of a small bruise on my neck when I noticed something on the counter by the sink. He had left me a note: “You will need to use ointment where you were punctured. After you shower, wipe down the areas with alcohol and use this Neosporin.  Do it for today and all will be well by tomorrow.”

He’d left me some alcohol wipes and packets of Neosporin.  I’d not even looked at my feet.  I sat on the side of the tub and examined them closely.  There were tiny scabs where the needles had been, but didn’t hurt when I touched them.  I got into the shower and began reflecting on the evening.  As I washed my body I was reminded of all that we did.  We were together for 8 hours.

Looking back, I reflected on some of the other things we did that I didn’t share in the other post.  He seemed to understand my need for fear, my need to feel vulnerable.  Prior to moving to the bedroom, he’d outlined my form with a large hunting knife.  He never broke the skin, but I could feel the point of the knife moving across my body…the cold steel again my warm flesh.  I know this sounds strange to many people, but I loved the feel.  It is not that I wanted to be cut, or hurt.  I liked the sensation of being that vulnerable. I liked that we were doing something taboo and dangerous.  I felt a level of arousal I’d never felt before.

I was lost in thought as shampoo began running in my eyes, snapping me back to reality.  I finished up my shower and got dressed.  Putting on my clothes, I remembered how his hands felt, how his body felt, how his breath felt in my ear, coaxing me, taunting me, reassuring me.  I put my hand on my neck and I was reminded of the moments he held me by the throat and how I loved that feeling. Had I always been this way?  Had this need for darkness been lying dormant in the recesses of my obsidian soul?

On the drive home I received a text from him, “Don’t forget. Text me when you get home. Be safe.” I didn’t know what to respond, or how to respond, or if I wanted to respond.  I drove in silence. No radio. No distraction other than the flood of thoughts vying for attention in my head.  When I pulled in to the garage, I instinctively texted him. “I am home.”

His reply, “Good.  I want you to send me an email of your thoughts about what we experienced.  You have until midnight to get it to me.  Be transparent. ”

I was a bit put off by this request, but I decided to do it.  Maybe writing it out will give me more perspective.  So I wrote him a missive from my vantage point and sent it to him.  He responded with his thoughts and a question, “when can I see you again?”

I didn’t answer.  I went to bed that night, sore and pensive.  I liked how I felt, but I was conflicted…it’s not “normal” to like pain.  It’s not “normal” to play with knives and needles.  It’s not “normal” to feel this way.  So I got up and emailed him.

“I don’t know when. I don’t even know if. I am trying to figure out who I am in all of this.”

And I went to sleep. Early in the morning I heard my phone ding.  I’d received an email…from him.

“You now know exactly who you are.  For once in your life, you know yourself.”  Initially I didn’t see it, but it was a new email, not a response.

The subject line consisted of one word, “Masochist

I’d been revealed.  He saw beneath the mask.  He knew who  I was.

And so did I.

the-mask

 

No Pain…No Gain

Usually when you see the words “no pain, no gain” it is about exercise, growth and discipline. In my case, it was quite literal.(Warning…this post may not be for everyone. It is intense and graphic and long.  Proceed with caution…)

During the Spring of 2014, I went on a quest for enlightenment. There was nothing taboo on my to-do list.  I wanted to explore.  I wanted to experience.  I wanted to feel alive again. I needed to be released from captivity.  I didn’t know where to start.  There were NO prospects at work.  Lee and I were still in contact, but I wanted someone new.  I wanted new experiences.  So I created an “Alt.com” account. (For those of you who aren’t familiar, Alt.com is a “dating” site for those who are into BDSM, and/or different kinks/fetishes)

And my inbox was inundated with enlightenment. About 100 messages later, I filtered out a couple of interesting propositions.  The one that really caught my attention was the sadist. He was unapologetic and direct. He was aroused by inflicting pain on his subjects. He did clarify that he did not go to extremes, but helped people release their most dark and deviant desires. I was reluctant but intrigued.  After all, I’d done just about everything on my sexual bucket list, many times over, so I felt that I needed to expand my perspective.

After talking and messaging for over a month, we agreed to meet one weekend.  I wanted to ensure my safety, so we exchanged pertinent information.  I verified his full name, address, date of birth, occupation, and had a friend run a background check on him.  Yes, I know…a bit overboard, but his check was clean and he was who he said he was.  My friend knew exactly where we were going and I was to check in after we met, so that she would know I was okay.  He lived about an hour from me, and reserved a hotel suite for our adventures. I liked that we were meeting in a neutral location. It gave me an added sense of security.  It made me feel  like I wouldn’t end up in the bottom of a well with him screaming, “put the fucking lotion in the basket.” I also liked that he sent me an actual questionnaire, regarding my limits and curiosities.  We reviewed it together in detail so we would be on the same page.  He knew my limits and he knew my kinks. And I had no idea what to expect.

I was to arrive in the room first and get ready for the evening.  He asked that I wear a black dress and heels. So I happily obliged and took my time getting ready.  I had no idea what I was preparing for, but I was giddy with anticipation. He knew I was nervous and asked me to go to the hotel bar for a drink, before he got there. I was almost finished with the third Cosmo when I received a text, “I am here. Come now.”

I tossed back the drink, cashed out and made my way to the room.  He was waiting at the door for me, with a large imposing black bag and a sadistic grin. I walked towards him realizing that there was still time to turn and run the other way. But instead, I walked with confidence and purpose, eager to release the demons that lurked deep within my bones.

“Hello, Kevin.  I am Tess.  Nice to meet you”

He had an imposing stature, tall and muscular.  He was dressed in black slacks and a black shirt. His sandy blonde hair was slightly messy and he smelled divine. “It’s nice to meet you, Tess.  Are you ready?” he asked as I put the card in the door.

I smiled and said, “I think so.” and with that he put his arm around my waist and walked me into the room, backing me up against the wall. He said, “Are you ready is a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.  I need an answer now.  If you don’t want to go further, it’s okay. But I need to know NOW.”

He took the breath away from me. I was scared and aroused and I looked into his brown eyes and said, “The answer is yes.  Yes I am ready.”

“Good. What is the safeword we discussed?” he asked.

“Red is to stop.  Yellow to slow down.”

“Good girl.  Take off the dress.  Leave on the heels.”

I slowly unzipped my dress and let it fall to my feet.  I stared into his eyes as I removed my bra and eased my lacy black panties down my legs. I stood before him, completely naked, in heels.

He walked towards me and clutched my throat as he kissed me. “You are so beautifully sexy and vulnerable right now. I am going to fuck you till you can’t walk.  I am going to hurt you and allow to let go of yourself. On your knees, now.”

I fell to my knees and looked up at him.  He stroked my chin as he pulled his hard cock from his pants. “Suck until I tell you to stop.” he ordered.  I took him into my mouth as he pushed himself farther and farther, aggressively fucking my throat. It was a messy scene of saliva and tears with smeared lipstick and runny mascara, as he made my eyes water with every thrust.  “Your tears are sexy as hell. This is just the beginning. Stand up and put your hands on the table, spread your legs.”

He stood behind me and I could feel his hard cock on my body. He growled in my ear, “You are not allowed to cum, until I tell you.  Do you understand?”

I said, “Yes, I understand” and with that, he pushed my face down onto the table and began fucking me. He started massaging my clit while he fucked my hole and I felt myself beginning to climax.  I gritted my teeth and concentrated on not having an orgasm, but he would not stop. I was panicked because I didn’t know how to stop myself from going over the edge. I said, “I don’t know if I can stop. Please let me cum.”

He laughed and said, “No. You have to take it. If you cum, I will stop. I will leave. And we will not go any further.”

I didn’t want that to happen, as I wanted to push limits with him, so I regained composure and focused on taking his torment.  A few minutes later, he stopped and told me to grab a towel and get on the bed.  As I began walking towards the bedroom, he snapped, “Crawl to me, slut.” I still had my heels on and I clenched the towel with my teeth as I crawled to the bed.

“Very nice. Now give me your hands.” he swiftly placed leather cuffs on my wrists and tied me to the bed. I felt nervous by what was coming next when I heard the sound of him rummaging through his bag of tricks.  He pulled out several items and I felt a sense of terror as I heard him approach me. I was face down on the bed, with my hands tied and I could not see what was coming.

“Open your legs wide.” He felt the wetness of my cunt and began fingering me.  He abruptly stopped and then fingered my ass.  He stopped and I could hear him squirting lube on his fingers as he assaulted my tight hole again. He was preparing me for something and I was excited by what was coming next.

He walked towards my face and showed me what was coming next.  He was holding a large dildo in his hand.  He stroked my cheek with it and said, “I am about to fuck your ass with this huge, 11 inch dildo. You are going to take every inch of it, aren’t you?  Oh, it is going to hurt, isn’t it?”  I nodded.  “What’s your safeword, Tess?”

“Red to stop, yellow to slow down.” I said.  My heart was racing. He began to push the large instrument in my ass, slowly, twisting it to add to the torment.  He kept whispering, “Take it, Tess.  Take it all.” and ironically, I found the sound of his voice comforting.  I relaxed as he filled me. Once I’d taken the entire length of the dildo, he told me to hold it there.

He massaged my feet with one hand as he pushed the dildo into my ass in a slow rhythm. I loved the pain. I craved each thrust. I felt myself getting close to the edge, when he stopped to retrieve something from his bag.  I heard him open a package and then felt something cold on my foot, like an alcohol pad, between my toes.

“On your questionnaire, you had a strong curiosity about needle play.  I am about put needles between your toes, while I continue to violate your ass. So I will need you to be completely still.”

I shuddered at the thought and yet I felt aroused.  He showed me that each needle was sterile packed in an individual package (did I mention that he was physician’s assistant). He opened the space between my great toe and the other toe, wiped it down again and inserted a 25g needled in between my toes.  It was intoxicating.  The feeling of pressure, of penetration, of a slight prick of pain all while being ass-fucked was almost too much.  He kept at his work, and before long I had needles in both feet, a dildo in my ass and his cock in my hole.  He held my feet up as he fucked me, his body driving the dildo farther inside me.  I was so overcome with sensation that I began to come unglued.  I started to weep.  Not from the pain, but from the pleasure…from the release.

He was aroused by my tears and picked up the pace, savagely fucking me. “Tess, you are allowed to cum now.  Let go.  Let it go.” And with that I let go and had the most intense orgasm of my life. I gushed all over, the bed was soaked and so was my pillow, from where I’d been crying. He came immediately after and slowly removed the dildo from my ass and the needles from my toes.  He untied my wrists and removed the cuffs.  He turned me to face him.  I was still emotional from the experience.

Without a single word, he got a warm washcloth and wiped my tears.  He kissed my forehead as he began to clean me up. His touch was tender and affectionate.  He whispered in my ear, “You were amazing tonight.  You truly let yourself go.  How do you feel?’

My voice was shaky from the intensity of what had just happened.  Teary-eyed I looked at him and said, “I don’t know how I feel.  I feel confused, but I feel content.”

He scooped me up in his arms and held me as we drifted off to sleep. I awoke to him packing his bag.  He sat on the bed next to me. “You are probably going to feel some confusion over what you experienced tonight. I am here to talk to you whenever you need me. This is just the beginning of what we could do together.  If you want to explore more, I will be here.  If you don’t, that’s okay.  I will understand either way.  This is not for everyone.  But your response was beautiful and liberating. I do hope we can see each other again.”

And with that, he placed a bottle of water on the nightstand, tucked me into the covers like a child, kissed my forehead and left. A couple of minutes later I received a text, “room service comes at 7:30 with breakfast.  You need to eat something, Tess.  Text me when you get home.”

To be continued…

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(Photo credit, Pinterest)

The 22 Year Old Virgin

tangled

Twenty-two.  Not 40.  But had I not intervened, he may have waited until he was forty.  I did my duty and rescued him from such a fate.

It was unseasonably cold that winter.  We’d actually had a smattering of snow, which is unusual in the deep South.  The roads were icy and I was sequestered at home…with my parents.  So the weekend after the winter storm, I was more than ready to get out and heat things up a bit.  My cousin invited me to visit him for a decadent weekend.  He was in his junior year of college at the University of South Carolina and there was always a party going on.  He had a wide variety of friends.  Men/women, gay/straight/bi, wild as hell and super nerdy.  He was a social butterfly who enjoyed them all.

I loved visiting him.  He always had a plan, an agenda, of what we would do for fun.  He was a small town boy with big city tastes.  He loved to live on the edge.  And I walked that ledge on the edge with him.  We started the weekend by going to a few parties on campus.  We both had a good time, but it wasn’t at the level of our typical shenanigans.  We were infamous for doing some crazy shit, like tip-toeing out of someone’s bedroom before their lover got home.  In fact, he was the same cousin who had taken my to the beach, where I had my first three-way.  Our stories were scandalous and I was slightly disappointed that the weekend began so tame.

Saturday was full of shopping, noshing on eclectic food and drinking.  I spent a copious amount of money on a sexy black cashmere sweater.  It was the perfect color for my milky complexion and I wore it with a micro-mini Pucci-print miniskirt and black thigh-high boots.  I was fierce.  We went to a few 18+ nightclubs, but nothing kept our attention.  It looked like the night was a wash, when we happened upon a party on the Horseshoe.  My cousin recognized one of his classmates, Tom.

Tom was a finance major, who was graduating that year and planned to continue on and get his MBA.  He wanted to intern with Barclay’s in London and eventually open his own consulting firm.  The man was smart, articulate and incredibly sexy.  Tall.  Dark.  Handsome. (And his feet were HUGE..just sayin’).  But he was a nerdy mess when it came to chatting up a girl. He could talk about the world of finance and currency exchanges, but flirty banter made him a blubbering mess.

And that’s when my agenda changed.  I had to have him. I was attracted to Tom in a different way.  He had this charm and innocence about him.  He was successful and if I am being real with you guys…he was a Kennedy.  Not related to the royals, but he had an air of aristocracy that made him seem like he was one of them.  I could tell there was a bad boy lurking  beneath the surface.  And it was my duty as an American citizen to find that beast and bring it out…you know the whole, “not what your country can do for you, but what YOU can “do” for your country” thing.  I took that seriously.

I sat next to him at the party and engaged him in conversation about European currency.  This was before the Euro and he had a vast knowledge on the subject.  My knowledge was basic, but enough to impress him that I had an interest (he seemed to pick up that I had a little bit of nerd lurking beneath my bad girl persona).  We talked for hours.  He was starting to become comfortable and sat a bit closer to me on the couch.

I peered into his big brown eyes, hoping to lure a kiss out of him, but he was still very nervous.  I realized that this project was going to take some time.  We parted ways that night with a long hug and quick peck on the cheek.  And that was okay.  It gave me something to do the next weekend.

We talked every day that week.  I could tell he was smitten with me.  We planned to meet again on Friday afternoon.  Both of us were finished with classes by 2:00 and it was less than an hour away.  I told my cousin I was coming up again for the weekend and he was happy to have me there again.  I told him not to plan much, as I was going to focus on Tom.  He understood, as he’d met someone new and was busy planning their agenda together.

Friday arrived and I showed up at his dorm in that sexy cashmere sweater and my best “good butt” jeans. He was visibly nervous, but I got him talking about something in his comfort zone and he began to relax.  We decided to try a new restaurant in the Vista.  We had an amazing meal and he was such the gentleman.  Honestly, it was a perfect date.  Part of me felt guilty for having such tawdry plans for him later.  He was such a good guy.

After dinner we stopped in at a few parties and talked with some of his friends.  He seemed more and more relaxed as the night went on.  We finally made it back to his dorm (his roommate was away for the weekend) around 11:30 that night.  We sat on his bed and talked some more.  Once again, I looked into his eyes, hopeful that he would kiss me, but not expecting him to make the first move.

He brushed the hair from my face.  I could feel his hand shaking as he touched my face and pulled me towards him.  Despite his nervousness, the kiss was perfect.  And it went like a wildfire from there.  We were locked in a fit of passion.  The kissing was sensual and erotic.  I began to wonder why he was so unsure of himself.  He certainly seemed like he knew how to kiss a girl.

He pulled me onto his lap as his big strong hands massaged my back.  My black sweater had a plunging neckline and I felt like my breasts would spill out from how he passionately touched me.  I could feel his hardness through my moist jeans and I was eager to see him fully naked.  To take him all in and study his form.  Soon, I removed his shirt and he took off my sweater.  His hands trembled as he unfastened my lacy pink bra.  He looked at my bare breasts in awe before clumsily fondling one as he attempted to lick my nipples.  He eventually found his groove and before long, we stood before each other naked.

“I don’t know how to tell you this” he whispered nervously.  “I’m still a virgin.”

I already knew, but didn’t let on.  “You are?” I asked

“Yes.  Someone broke my heart my last year of high school and I’ve not had the nerve to ask anyone out here at college.  I have buried myself in studies and just put it out of my mind.  But I am ready.”

He walked towards me, held my face with both hands, looked into my eyes and said, “I want you.”

Let’s just pause for a minute and reflect, shall we?  1.  This man is gorgeous.  2.  He is a virgin.  3.  He wants me…ME.  4.  And he’s a Kennedy.  

I gently kissed his mouth and dropped to my knees, taking him into my mouth.  He was rock hard and almost lost his balance.  I asked him to sit down on the bed as I resumed my position.  I realized that he’d never experienced anything like this before.  I knew he may orgasm quickly, so I slowed my pace, allowing him to enjoy each and every second of the experience.  He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure.  I didn’t allow him to finish, because I wanted him to direct how he wanted his first time to go.

He pulled me on top of him, as he fumbled with a condom.  I politely took it from him and had it on in less than a minute, with expert skill.  He wanted me on top.  I straddled him and slowly guided him inside me as he pulled my hips onto his.  He watched me ride his cock.  He looked into my eyes and then watched every move of my body on his, in amazement.

He came quickly and was most apologetic.  I assured him that it was okay.  He was ready to go again soon and we fucked all night long.  Him on top. Me on top again.  Him from behind.  More oral.  Showering together.  We finally went to sleep around 4:00 am and woke up and fucked more at 7:00 am.  We stayed in bed the entire day.  Exploring.  Feasting on each other.  Sharing our desires.  It was one of the best weekends of my life.

It rained for most of the weekend and when weren’t worshipping each other, we were intertwined in the sheets, watching it rain from his large dorm window.  We never got dressed or went out…We ordered pizza on Saturday and  Sunday.  We didn’t want to miss a moment together.  But eventually we had to untangle ourselves and get back to reality.

I left that evening a bit confused.  I’d been with virgins before and I enjoyed the role as a teacher. But this felt different.  I really liked this man.  He was everything I wanted in a boyfriend and the sex was amazing.  I remained in deep thought as I drove home in the rain.  The moment I arrived home, the phone rang.  It was him.  He wanted to make sure I made it safely.

We talked for hours that night and I think that was the first time I fell in love.  We stayed together as a blissfully happy couple until the summer.  He landed that internship at Barclays and headed out for a summer in London.  We tried to stay together despite the distance, but I was ready to move on.  I was not ready to find the One.  He could have certainly been the One.  But I was young and adventurous and we both decided to see other people.

Eleven years later, I was on a beach near Charleston, SC.  I heard someone call out “Tom?  Tom Kennedy? Is that you?  I haven’t seen you since USC!”  I looked up and saw Tom talking with the man who had called his name.  He was 20 feet away from where I was sitting with my family.  OMG.  He was still gorgeous.  He was married and had two beautiful children.  I was there with my husband and son.  I decided not to say anything and I made an excuse for us to change locations, because it would have been too much to see him again.

I prefer to remember him as he was during that rainy weekend in the winter of 1991.

 

 

(Photo, Pinterest)

The Good Girl’s Guide to Hot Sex

Regardless of what you are in to.

Regardless of your kinks.

Regardless if you are a straight-laced woman, or a once a week…missionary-only man, we all love sex.

And I especially love sex, the hotter…the dirtier…the better.

In the “Good Girl’s Guide” series, I often discuss the need to ask for what you want.  To not be afraid, ashamed, or intimidated by your desires.  To figure out what makes you tick.  To learn how to verbalize your wants.

And let me just say…in some cases, talk is overrated.  Sometimes it is best to demonstrate what you want, or just simply take it.  Take the initiative.  Allow your primal instincts…your inner beast to take you over and fuck the living hell out of your prey.

If I want to get laid in a big way, I start dropping hints early.  In fact, I may start his morning with a wake-up blow job.  Flipping his switch to ON from the beginning.  He will be preoccupied all day, thinking of how far you took him down your throat.

I send naughty texts and pics to make sure he stays ON.  Most of us do this from time to time, but the captions I include ensure a wild romp in the hay.  “My pussy is throbbing thinking of you fucking me.  Have a nice day, baby.”  That always gets my One going.

I think of how I want the evening to go.  I tap into deep and dark fantasies.  I allow myself to become aroused.  I embrace the fact that my panties are moist and if they become too wet, I take them off midday.  I ready myself for what I want.

When we are finally in each other’s presence…we are so charged from the day’s interactions, that we could fuck at the front door.  But to coax out the beast, I play coy.  I fix dinner.  I tidy up the house.  I hold him off for just a minute longer. (Which I must confess…is extremely difficult for me.)  Trust me, it is worth it.

There are no words to describe this level of unbridled passion, so I am not going to insult you  by trying to do so.  I find myself doing things I would not typically do.  Any inhibitions that lurk in the back of my head are gone. Clothes get ripped off.  Sometimes to tease the beast, I slide my fingers into my wet hole and smear my essence on his lips and kiss him voraciously.  I am blinded by carnal lust and would do ANYTHING at that moment, as would he.  We are consumed with the beasts within, seeking pleasure at all costs.

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It is primal.  It is molten hot.  And it’s deliciously dirty.  In the end, the sheets are soaked. As orally gifted as I am, I somehow end up with cum in my hair.  I’ve straddled his mouth so much that his face looks like a glazed doughnut.  And we both have a sated smile…a deep satisfaction that only hot, dirty, lustful sex brings.

I suggest you try it sometime.  Make it impromptu or let it build up for a couple of days.  Just leave your inhibitions and panties on the floor and get down and dirty.  Fuck him like you are getting paid for it and you are up for a promotion.  I guarantee you will get a raise.

Now if you will excuse me…I have some panties to ditch and a job to do.

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Incognito

Birds of a feather flock together…

Great minds think alike…

Two peas in a pod…

Two of a kind…

And I am sure there are dozens more cliches out there to explain why we pair off or group ourselves with like-minded people.  Maybe it’s a shared interest.  A shared belief.  A lifestyle.  A religion.  Whatever it is, we tend to surround ourselves with people who are similar to us.

But what if your true self…who you are at your core…is shrouded?  Hidden.  Neatly tucked behind the corners of your enigmatic smile and charming personality (not that you are a maniacal serial killer or anything) and it’s something that those in your circle know nothing of?  Does that mean you are living a lie, or is it self-preservation?  Is it being a private person?  Does anyone really need to know your private self?

Does the universe find a way of revealing you to those who can see and understand the real you?

Here’s my point…

No matter where I go…I find that there’s always at least one in the crowd who sees me as I really am.  The whole person.  Not just the focused career-driven woman that takes charge and gets shit done…No, not only the sweet single mother who bakes cookies with her kids…No.  Not even the lady who will let you ahead of her in line, if you only have a few items.  NO.  Yet, there are a few who see all of that and still see the man (woman) behind the curtain.

I’ve come to a conclusion that it’s simply the law of attraction…that “like attracts like” and those who reveal us are also shrouded.  (Stay with me, I promise…I have a point).  I keep this other side of me, this obsidian side, with all of my trysts and licentious behavior, buried deep behind a lovely, but far from perfect, facade.  And yet still, a few can see me.  And in turn, I can see them.  It’s funny…it’s almost like there’s a label written in invisible ink across my forehead, that can only be deciphered by those with the same insignia.

This came to mind today at work.  I am working with a charming, take charge woman in her mid/late 40’s.  By all accounts, she is professional, smart, pretty and kind.  She knows her line of business and expects those around her to perform at their best.  She’s a strong leader.  Yet, I could see her label.  And I think she could see mine.

Like me, she prefers a submissive role in relationships.  She also has a string of past lovers that she entertains on occasion.  She has an free-spirited nature that spills into her private life and I suspect she is a bit wild and adventurous.  I have a sneaky feeling she’s in to role play and bondage.  To look at her, you would not see it.  But for those of us with a different perception, it’s obvious.

How is that?  is there some code word, or subliminal message in covert mental Morse code that alerts us to small nuances that we recognize within ourselves?  I don’t have the answer.  But this happens to me frequently.  The drill instructor I described a few posts back, was the first to name it as the law of attraction.  Within moments of meeting me, he could see exactly who I was.  He could sense exactly what I needed.  There was no judgment.  No agenda.  He just knew.  It’s a bit scary and comforting at the same time.  There’s an acceptance and camaraderie knowing that you are in like company.

Which brings me to…

You can run, but you can’t hide.  And as much as I strive to be incognito, there is always someone there who knows who I really am.

I think Anais Nin says it perfectly, “I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.”

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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.

knives

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.  

2girls

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.

mick

 

The Little Death

The French refer to orgasm as “la petite mort” or the little death.  I have always been a Francophile and obviously I am also a fan of orgasms, so it seems fitting to write of this phenomenon.

The orgasm.  The mere mention of the word in mixed company can elicit smiles, sighs, daydreams, anxiety, erections and a host of other emotions.  It is quite the buzzword (no pun intended).  Is it merely a physical response or it there something more to it? Why is it so easy for some to have an orgasm, while it is elusive for others?

I am no expert, but I can share with you my journey; my love-hate-love-infatuation-adoration relationship with knowing how to arrive at the big O.  It’s a path of discovery, trial and error, failed debacles and self-acceptance. First things first…Is orgasm merely a physical response to stimuli that builds up and then ends in release?  Or is there a mental component to “cumming”?

For me, I have to be in the right head-space to let go and have an O.  If my mind is not stimulated, my body will stage a coup and refuse me a proper ending…almost like a cliffhanger episode on a soap opera.  I have to feel connected and present in the moment.  I need to feel connected with my partner.  And most importantly, I have to feel comfortable in my own skin.  Free to say and do what comes naturally.  If I feel confined or inhibited in any way, I can see the next exit labeled, “orgasm ahead’ I just cannot get there.  And it doesn’t matter who is driving…how fast or slow…it doesn’t matter the route, it’s not happening unless I am mentally there.  It may not be this way for everyone.  But again…this is just my story of O.

From a purely physical place, I am blessed that I am one of those lucky souls who is able to have multiple orgasms.  And for long periods of time.  Eventually, the well of bliss will run dry, but I have been known to soak through towels, sheets and mattress protectors.  It used to bother me that I “released” so much during my climax, but I’ve learned to embrace it as the gift it is.

Being a submissive who has certain appetite for pain, I have experienced orgasms through powerful scenes.  I recall one instance where I was flogged for a long period of time and it caused me to gush everywhere. Afterwards, I felt like I was floating.  I was told by my fellow subbies out there, that this is “subspace” a place of euphoria that follows a particularly intense session of play.  For me, there is nothing else that compares to this feeling.  Which brings me to…

The crying orgasm.  Not trying to bring the mood down, but I have experienced orgasms that make me weep.  It’s a rare occurrence, but it is beautiful and profound when it happens.  I have encountered these white whales when there is a deep emotional bond with my partner.  It’s a place of openness and vulnerability that is hard to replicate.  It is as real as it gets for me.  To experience such pleasure, such release, such emotion and such love.

Moving on….

What do you do when you have an orgasm?  Everyone is different…trust me, I have been with my fair share and I’ve seen and heard it all.  Some are silent throughout.  Some are so loud, you worry about the neighbors calling in a SWAT team.  Others are in between.

I’ve been with the newscasters…those who broadcast each and every detail of the scenario, from start to finish.  Often it’s not even dirty talk…it’s more like:  “my dick is so hard.  this is my favorite way to fuck.  oh yeah…oh yeah. my dick is about to explode.  here it is…here it is…”  And not that these types bother me, I rather enjoy hearing what they are experiencing, but if you’re on round two or three, it can get a bit monotonous.

I have vast experience with the “call of the wild” ones.  They usually let you know how much they are enjoying you, but trade in the descriptive banter for grunts, growls and feral-sounding screams when they orgasm and unload.  I find this type hot as hell.  Primal.  Earthly. Authentic.

There are the drill instructors.  “faster…slower…deeper…ride my cock…take that cock…fuck me…slow it down…give it to me now.”  And that’s just the first 30 seconds of the encounter.  They are bossy and demanding.  And in the right head-space, I love a drill instructor…but I could never enjoy that on a daily basis.  Just me, but I think that could become confusing!  And when they come, they announce it…every part of it…much like the newscasters.

As for myself…I am a bit loud.  I don’t even realize it.  I sound a lot like my “call of the wild” counterparts.  And on a handful of occasions, I have laughed hysterically during an orgasm.  Looking back, that laughter was a close relative to crying.  I was so overcome with emotion, that I laughed my cock-filled ass off.  But that is a rare happening.

To the women who are reading this…do you experience clitoral orgasms, G-spot orgasms, anal orgasms, or D…all of the above?  I have had them all.  And the G-spot orgasm is hands-down (no pun there) my favorite.  It is unlike any other feeling of pleasure for me.  A real bonus is when I have all 3 of these at the same time.  That has only happened one time in my life.  It was so profound, I had to take a day off of work to process it.  It was mind-blowing and life-changing.  And I am always ready to relive the experience….Really ready.  It’s got me daydreaming.

You know what?  I could use that day off.

the o