Underestimate me at your own risk.

Don't underestimate me
Image found on Pinterest, shared by Lizardianaamalia

I love it when people underestimate me. Particularly men who tell me they are Doms.

This week saw a bizarre conversation, which felt very much like a game of cat and mouse. It is no secret I am on Fabswingers, but what may surprise you the most is why. When I first signed up it was to help with tasks. Over the years I have found the site incredibly useful for a variety of things. Some I’ve already shared on here and others are still to come. When sir has been out of the picture my account has often lain dormant. Occasionally I’ll open it up and have a look to see what is about. I mean, a girl has got to eat. Invariably there are slim pickings and so, rather than deal with the deluge of “wuu2?” and “Hi, want fun” I hide my world away again. Recently a good friend has been asking me to keep a bit of an eye out for her on there. And as my page has been available I have had lots (and lots and lots and lots) of messages. I’m rather daft, I feel duty bound to say thanks but no thanks to everyone. I will usually have a brief exchange before I tell them I will block them so I don’t distract them anymore. I like to treat people in the way that I would like to be treated myself.

Occasionally someone keeps pushing, and they truly underestimate what I am like…

Just this week I had a message from a 30 year old (too young) gym bunny (pretty boy) from london (too far away) who told me he is a Dom. (Really???) He had the usual rebuff, and continued to talk. I made all of the points around not wanting a young, pretty thing. Especially as he lives so far away. He latched onto this last point, stating that he was moving to my town the next day, and he has his own place with a Red Room. At this point I was hooked. He had put his stupid into my inbox and wanted to play with me… Perhaps I could play with him after all. His next message suggested whatsapp would be easier, sending his number. I quickly responded on the app, happy to seem desperate. I wanted to know what this silly boy wanted with me. Turned out, pretty quickly that he wanted videos. He went to great lengths to tell me he likes to make videos and he had some, if I wasn’t going to be shocked. Explaining that it takes a lot to shock me, that I have my own videos which I don’t share because I choose not to, but that if he felt the need to send some my way then I wouldn’t be offended. He did. 3 mediocre 20-40 second videos. Oddly, each one seemed to have a different cock in it… He told me to rate them. 4, with the camera work being so rubbish, but that the woman in the face fucking video seemed to have some skills. “Bring it” is the recorded voice message that pinged onto my whatsapp. “Bring what exactly?” And then I reminded him I don’t share my videos.

He’s obviously not too disappointed as next thing I know my phone is ringing…

We had a little chat, I’m looking at the lock thinking about the blog post I am trying to write… We had a pleasant conversation. He didn’t stop talking, I made occasional non-commital noises to fit in with what he was saying. Next he’s telling me he’s naked except for his black calvin kleins. He wanted to know what I would do if I was stood there in front of him. In just his black Calvin Klein boxers. I said I’d probably pop the kettle on. “no” pressing for more “what would you say?” He sounded a little disappointed at my response of asking if he’d prefer tea or coffee.

However, he was undeterred.

“I promised I wouldn’t play tonight, but here we are flirting…”

“Are we?” I asked, not knowing how he could have mistaken my occasional comments and lack of enthusiasm for flirting… Suggesting if he doesn’t want to play he shouldn’t, that it won’t bother me.

“…Yes, and I’ve got a right bell end” He sends me a picture. Turns out his Calvin Kleins were white. Again, he asks what I think. I think the fabric looks soft, but apparently that wasn’t what he meant. Next thing I know I hear a familiar gentle stroking sound, who is going to win? I wonder if he is going to beat off before I call him on his behaviour. But it is at this point he starts to tell me all about his fantasy, and the game changes…

I’ve got you on all fours, and I’m fucking you doggy style with your ankles tied together. I grab your hair so you have to look at us in the mirror and then I slap your feet.

“What? How does that even work?” I ask. I can hear his enthusiasm through the phone, but I am so confused at the physics of what he is beating off to that I have to find out what the actual fuck he is talking about. “So, you’ve got this woman in doggy style with her…”

“You, I’ve got you.”

“Right. So, hypothetically let’s say, you’ve got me in doggy style. And you’re fucking me from behind as you pull my head up and back by my hair I can see us in the mirror. How are you going to get to my feet?”

Apparently he has long legs, and would be straddling  mine. And as he was fucking me and pulling my hair up I would lift my bound ankles to his backside and he’d reach behind to slap them.

So. Many. Questions….

  • How would I be able to balance in that position?
  • How would he ensure my airway was safe for breathing if he was concentrating behind him on my feet?
  • How would he be able to administer quality blows to my soles?
  • How would he keep a rhythm up that satisfied him? (Even if my pleasure wasn’t his concern?
  • Would I have something to kneel on?

In fairness to him he did answer them. but the fapping became less vigorous with each response. Apparently he wears a tie and belt to work and his belts are all made of leather.

  • But how will you get the angle right for using a belt on my feet if you can’t even see them?

In an effort to stop me badgering him with the complexities of his proposed fantasy he lowered his voice and said:

“Sir demands that you keep eye contact with him at all times in the mirror”

At this sentence I disintegrated into fits of hysterical laughter, replying after a snort “There is only one man I have ever called Sir, and you are not Him!” The fapping had ceased altogether by this point, and I breathed in a deep breath of victory! Then I bid him a good night and hung up. A couple of minutes later he messaged hat it was a shame I hadn’t sent him a video as it would have tipped him over the edge. Given that the only person that it was a shame for was him I decided to block him.

The mouse caught a cat when he went fishing!

I’m not sharing this story because I am laughing at him. Part of me is really ashamed at my behaviour towards him. I know full well that I played a game of cat and mouse with him, and perhaps that was unfair. But there is another part of me which gets frustrated with people like him, exerting their perceived authority over the unsuspecting new submissives who are swayed by a pretty face and an overworked fantasy. I also know a number of subs who would have happily shared videos with him, and potentially he would have passed those around to others. More women still (and men actually) who take it personally when they get played with like he was trying with me. I’m quite thick skinned, and I have had a laugh at his expense. But I wanted to share to show that this does happen, that life is full of all sorts of characters and that we should just try and be aware of the twerps among us who are not what they seem.

My behaviour wasn’t big and it wasn’t clever, but if you underestimate me the end result may well be a funny story.

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Underestimate me at your own risk was first published on A Leap of Faith.

New and Exclusive: Elust 117

Photo courtesy of Master’s Eye

Welcome to Elust 117

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 #118? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A dominant presence

He Gripped Her Hand and Centered Her

Being alone together.

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

What the fig?

Mind and body

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

O! or, errr… NO!: Orgasm Control in an F/m Dynamic

 

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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 Sex & Relationships

Fantasies Never Let You Down
My First Love
New Fun with Old Friends
Sometimes coming joint second
emotional disconnection, sex and loneliness
People Don’t Talk about This Sh!t

Erotic Fiction

Waking the Fallen
Daisy
opera seria
Catch the Catcher
Club Dress Extended
Dreams … (the Second : Arabian Nights)
The orgasmic arch

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Five Senses of Sex
A public beating
Rope Dreams

Poetry

-01.04.19_00:22-

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Primal Regression and Submission
14 Qualities of a “Good” Dominant
Balance in F/m voices

Events

Do I want you to hold my hand?

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Sex in Class
That’s My Kink – All Hail The Nipple Clit

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why I’m not smiling for IWD

 

 

Elust

About 

The Editor-in-Chief of Elust and better known to the rest of the world as Mollyxxx

My beautiful stone fairy

Moulded and painted stone fairy for the post my beautiful stone fairy.

I could see it the first time I looked at her face. She didn’t love him, she didn’t love anyone but herself.

Not that I could say anything. Leaning on my stone toadstool clutching the flowers that would never wither. He had stopped to look at me, I had tried with all my might to flutter my eyelashes at him but I just couldn’t. My eyes locked with his and held his gaze though, as his hand reached in to grasp me on the shelf in that grubby corner of the shop. She wandered over, sneering at me and mocking him for picking up a silly garden fairy. “What on earth do you want that for? Silly piece of tat, no idea where you think it’s going to go. Not in our garden, that’s for sure.” He looked down trodden and almost broken, but I could feel his warmth through my painted alabaster dress. My lashes may have been staying put but my eyes met his confused glances each time they came my way.

He found a place for me, in the front garden, amongst the reeds of his pond.

In spite of her initial scorn she soon let go of her disgust, choosing instead to ignore my presence on her property. Over the next few years I watched them come and go, initially together but as time passed he would slope in late at night and leave early. She would spend more time home during the day, entertaining men who would turn up with bottles of wine and gifts. When they were home together I would listen to her shouting, no, screaming at him. Plates smashing, my back to the house I couldn’t see when she pushed him up against the window, holding a smashed plate to his throat. I only heard her wailing like a banshee before a low groan and a thud. Then the ambulance arrived, and the police.

He was taken away on a stretcher while she was taken in cuffs.

Seven sunsets later the gate opened and I saw him for the first time since that night. Dressings on his face, and an arm clutched across his waist. With his family for support he was well looked after while he healed. Soon he was back on his feet but a melancholy had taken over and his beautiful garden was neglected. I enjoyed watching the tadpoles grow and spring from the pond, fully grown and ready to go on their way. One knocked me so I was leaning into the lush green foliage that grew around me. The scorching summer sun reduced the water in the pond, and the reeds started to die back taking me with them. Laying back in the crispy reeds I had a different view of the world. I could no longer spy on him, watch him from afar. Baking in the afternoon sun I could hear the gate squeaking on its hinges, footsteps trudging up the overgrown path as always. I counted, it was 37 of his loping steps from gate to front door. Today he stopped at 31, turned and I heard 12 more. The final 3 came with a shadow and then, there he was. His face looming over me, hand reaching down towards me.

As those strong fingers wrapped around me our eyes locked once more.

This time my eyelashes fluttered, and his warmth seeped into me. A blink and a shake of his head, I could read those thoughts as they flashed across his face… What is going on? Am I imagining things? How…? No, it can’t be… I willed him to believe, desperate for him to see me, to touch me. What was I thinking? I couldn’t expect him to fall in love with me. “You’re just a silly stone fairy.” And as he set me back in my place I felt sadness flood the pit of my tummy. Each day from then on I would watch the sunrise, see him head off on his adventures and then return home, but now I was seeing a change. He would stop and clear a little patch of overgrown plants, starting with the weeds on the path, and working his way around the pond. He repaired the liner and refilled it, and when autumn arrived he had revived my oasis. Cracking open a bottle to toast his hard work he sat down next to me under the stars.

So close I could hear the lager bubbles rattling in his belly.

“Sounds strange” I heard him whispering “but I could swear that you’ve been watching me work.” He was talking to me, he had seen me. “I thought I was going mad, she always said you were just  silly stone fairy… But you are my beautiful stone fairy” I felt my wings start to tremble, he wasn’t looking at me but if he. Oh, if he had… “If anyone could see me now, talking to you, they would lock me up and throw away the key. I’ve often wondered if I’m mad. I felt some kind of… Oh, I don’t know… Something… You may be made of stone, but your eyes are like sparkling pools” Oh my goodness. The trembling in my wings spread south, now my tummy was turning somersaults, and my inner labia began to flutter. “I wanted to apologise for neglecting you. You brightened my world every time I saw you over the years, and I left you all alone, tumbled down in the weeds and wildlife” I was positively vibrating now, this energy….I hoped I didn’t shatter into millions of pieces “If I had one wish I’d ask for you to be real. For my eternal companion to come to life so I can look into your eyes for real” Was that a shooting star? “Well, fuck me. It’s now or never… I wish my beautiful stone fairy was not made of stone.” Draining his bottle, he stood up. One last look at me, leaning against my mushroom, our eyes meeting in the gloom. “Must be the beer, or madness setting in….” he rambled off to the house, 19 steps to the front door. He may have gone but the energy hadn’t left me. As the dew formed on my stone flowers I started to change, to grow. And as the sun climbed over the horizon I stretched my arms up and over my head, moved around my stone mushroom and sat down for the first time…ever. Gathering my knees to my chest I waited. Until he opened the front door. Our eyes locked as they had done so many times before. This time was different though. This time he reached out in disbelief, and I took his warm hand in my own. Smiling at his realisation that I was his beautiful stone fairy, that his wish could come true, I allowed him to pull me into his arms and crush me with his lips.

His beautiful stone fairy melted in his embrace.

Fairy-Folk-900x450
Image originally published as Fairy Folk and used with permission.

 

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Masturbation Monday

 

My beautiful Stone Fairy. was first published on A Leap of Faith.

Kind of like vanilla, but not quite.

Blonde lady peeking through a gorse bush ad smiling. Featured image for the post Kind of like vanilla but not quite.

As we move through the world, we present a certain image of ourselves. There are the bits of our personalities, our relationships, our lives that we are happy to share openly, other parts that we share only with our most intimate acquaintances, and some bits that we keep almost entirely to ourselves.

As sex-bloggers, we are, perhaps, more open about the things we share and reveal about ourselves, but even we have things that we keep, if not entirely to ourselves, hidden from the full glare of public scrutiny.

So, this week, what we want to know is:

What are the things you hide from others because you worry that they wouldn’t understand?

Do you “categorise” what you share about yourself differently with different people?

Is there anything that you keep hidden away because you are ashamed of it?

Do you have a secret that you will never share?

Like most things in life the answer to the above questions weren’t as clear-cut as I first thought.

This weeks Food For Thought Friday got my grey matter whirring.  I consider myself to be a very open and honest woman, unless I have been trusted with someone else’s secret. Those are the only secrets that I can categorically say I will never share. They are not my secrets!

My news however…

I have a wonderful and varied network of close friends who I trust wholeheartedly. I don’t categorise them in regards to who I could tell certain things, but I do know their strengths and challenges. Queries about different kinks would be directed at specific friends, depending on their skill sets. CST, for example, would know more about my predilection for watersports and how I could integrate that into a scene with a lover. Another example is DrLovelace who would be asked about fire play and self ties. Technically I have all sorts of bases covered, and I am fortunate enough to be able to share my knowledge with others too. For my emotional needs I know that there is no end to my friends’ compassion, and I am certain I could pick up the phone to any at any time, with any issue, and they would be happy to talk me through it while I gather my senses. It is only in the past couple of years that I have been able to share my emotions with anyone.

Until then I was ashamed of the tears that my eyes refused to shed.

The person that I am now would struggle to understand that shame, had I not lived with it for so long. It came from a place of burying my true self deep inside. Allowing myself to be moulded into the person that P wanted me to be. Actually, that’s not entirely fair. When I first met P I was ashamed of my kinks, I wanted the life I felt was expected of me, to be part of what I perceived to be the normal world. But it all went horribly wrong, culminating in the almost total loss of me.

Almost…

There was a part of me that stayed strong, and once I had been cut off from social group I had been a part of for 12 years I was forced to find people I could become friends with. Make new connections, rebuild myself and shape my new life into one that I could be proud of. It hasn’t been easy, and I’ve made mistakes along the way but I don’t think I would be as free to be me had I stayed in the little bubble I had been left in after my separation. I also believe that what you put out into the universe you will get back. By being open and honest I have found my people.

But there are some people I can’t be entirely open with.

  • I have a lot of love for my mum, she is amazing in so many ways and I am very lucky to have her in my corner (when she isn’t trying to be in everyone else’s corner as well!) One area that she isn’t open to discussion is sex. Well, I could talk to her but I know she would be judgemental. My aunt is often described as an old slapper. She is in fact a 53-year-old serial monogamist, who has never had a one night stand or anything other than vanilla sex. I asked her when she had been drinking and was asking me for advice on my cousins sexual dilemma. For an “old slapper” she is very innocent. However, I digress… My mum would have a shock to discover her daughter was a sexual deviant! I know she would be ok once the dust had settled but her initial response would be difficult for us. Her in particular.
  • Working in mental health proved very interesting. I was always very private with my accounts, and professional with my clients. I do wonder if I have an air of kink because many of them would be open with me about their interests. I would never have crossed professional boundaries by being open with them about mine, but I would never judge them.
  • My children are, of course, the main people I wouldn’t be open with. I aim to be a sex positive parent, and certainly with my oldest reaching puberty I am aware of the need for being approachable. If they ask questions I will answer in an age appropriate way. Like the time my little one pulled a vibrator from my handbag and asked me what it was for. That was an interesting conversation to have at the traffic lights! What is this mummy? What does that button do mummy? Why does it buzz mummy? As the traffic started to move I answered calmly about it being one of mummy’s toys. Like he has Lego, but that is a grown up toy. Pop it back in my bag now please. And he did, conversation turned to Lego and singing songs while we continued on our journey. If I had been embarrassed that would have been a difficult (and probably drawn out) conversation. These little people who I have made need protecting from accidentally discovering things that could harm them emotionally. But I won’t lie to them. Sensitive question answering is the way forward here for me, and an area to tread carefully over time.

Not sharing doesn’t mean I stop being me though.

Wherever I am I can be cautiously playful and mischievous while wearing my mask. I can be playing hide and seek in the wild, and settle for a patch of nettles or gorse bush as my hiding place, scratching my masochistic needs. I can be found (and sometimes heard…hot weather lessons) wearing latex underwear to school church services, as my protection. Wearing a butt plug over dinner with my mum while we discuss her concerns about people’s immoral existence and I challenge her to see an alternate point of view. And then there are essential oil soaked scouring pads worn during study days. And that kind of mischief (secret, hidden and clandestine) is some of the most fun a playful girl can have.

#F4TFriday

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Kind of like vanilla, but not quite was first published on A Leap of Faith.

“Just” a basic black bra.

A woman in a black bra tied in beautiful red nylon rope for the post "Just" a basic black bra.

Late last spring I was fitted for a bra for the first time since my teens.

As soon as I knew I had a size I quickly fell in love with lingerie and soon acquired a variety of lovely underwear. The black bra I’m wearing in this picture is the first purchase, the one I made off the back of that fitting. A very plain, tee shirt bra from Marks and Spencers. The selection of bras they had in my size, or at least the ones the fitting lady insisted on bringing for me, were not to my taste. Not fun, sassy or playful. Sir had tasked me to push myself out of my comfort zone that day, and I wasn’t leaving the shop without a bra!

I chose this comfortable, functional and understated piece of equipment.

Little did I know when I left the shop that my wonderful friend would be bringing her new rope for me to fondle when she came for dinner that night. Fondle is exactly what I did, and when she offered to tie  me up in it I couldn’t have declined. Whipping off my blouse I decided to leave my new underwear in place, I hadn’t reached peace with what lay beneath and didn’t want to get them out in such close quarters to a friend who has marvellous breasts. It may have just been a basic black tee shirt bra, but it was the perfect backdrop for that beautiful blood red rope. It enabled me to stand proud in her wonderful creation.

Just because it is basic, doesn’t mean it can’t be sexy.

Lingerie is for everyone

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“Just” a basic black bra was first published on A Leap of Faith.

Feeling Friable

A small beige pebble being gripped between thumb and forefinger in close up, slightly out of focus. Further below is a crisp view of the pebble beach. The featured image for Feeling Friable.

Friable: (adj.) easily broken into pieces or reduced to nothing.

When I was 14 I had a grumbling appendix. The doctors wouldn’t remove it because they didn’t see it as an emergency, but they wouldn’t let me do sports, just in case I sustained a blow and became an urgent case. While I waited for the powers that be to decide what would be done I spent Wednesday afternoons (the time my year had PE) in the library. While there I would write, poetry mainly. One such poem was about how fragile I felt in this situation. For the first time in my life I felt vulnerable and useless, that I would easily crumble into a million pieces. Following the composition (of what is actually pure drivel, produced by angst) I pored over a thesaurus and discovered the word friable.

And so “Feeling Friable” was born.

The last few days have been a challenge, leaving me on the brink of exhaustion. I even had an afternoon nap yesterday and have been keeping myself hidden behind my walls of self-protection. As a woman, a mum and a friend, I feel emotionally wiped out. It has been a time of asking some of my wonderful friends for a shoulder to lean on. It was while talking to B that I was reminded of the poem “Feeling friable”. I found my mind wandering to the title as we said our farewells, the fragility I feel at the moment is not about me shattering.

It’s a more subtle feeling of crumbling into powder, like I could be swept under the carpet.

Last spring I discovered a new side of myself, or perhaps a side of myself I’ve always had was described in a new way? Apparently I showed my Kitten side, by curling into a ball and resting my head in a friends lap at the end of a long weekend, allowing him to stroke my hair ever so gently. More recently I discovered a strong desire to have my hair brushed by a big man with strong arms. To be adored and cherished by him, to be craved but not touched in any way aside from my hair… I’ve never been one for labels, but have puzzled over what any of this means.

Last night, while waiting for sleep and peace to overtake me, I felt a wave of sadness instead.

I am not lonely, I love my life the way it is including the amount of alone time I have, but in that moment all I wanted was to be protected. To be tucked up tight in bed, and have my hair stroked while I drifted off. My strong protector watching over me while I slumbered.  Perhaps I’m feeling fragile and crave a safe space to curl up and hide? Or maybe I am entering a softer, gentler phase? Then again, I could just be healing from hurt, and allowing myself to be vulnerable.

Whatever the answer I know that I can be Strong and confident while I feel friable, and that is ok.

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Feeling Friable was first published on A Leap of Faith.

The dance we must do

A freckled hand taking hold of an espresso cup handle, light reflecting in the glossy crema.. Featued in the post The dance we must do
Coffee: Date or Social?

There is something that I find really puzzling. Something we will all do at some point, or so I’m told.

Dating!

I’m a 36-year-old woman and, as far as I can work out, I’ve been on 5 dates. Actual, official, proper dates. Meets and socials, easy peasy. I’ve done those by the (cough-cough) dozen… But actual dates, with people I would be considering starting something with. I fell into a relationship with my first boyfriend, never dated P. M and I met as part of a task and only went for an actual date when we were getting back together (again!) The first time I met B was a friendly swim in the sea, followed by a hot chocolate which then continued to dinner. We have since discussed  this, and have come to the decision that it started as a social and evolved into a date. Does this mean it was my second ever date.

And besides, what is dating?

In my quest to figure all of this out I thought I had best get a definition for dating. According to the Urban Dictionary it is

Dating is where two people who are attracted to each other spend time together to see if they also can stand to be around each other most of the time, if this is successful they develop a relationship, although sometimes a relationship develops anyways if the people can’t find anybody else to date them, or are very lonely or one person is only attracted to the other and pretends to be in love with the second unfortunate person who has the misunderstanding that they have found love.

This makes more sense than the traditional definition where dating means to:

go out with (someone in whom one is romantically or sexually interested).

I have gone out with people I’m sexually attracted to, in order to ascertain whether I actually want to fuck them. With no romantic designs whatsoever. This is what I would describe as “a social meet” and I have done this on many occasion. These are easy to do. I am fully confident when pitching up to meet someone, it’s like an interview, but less formal. (Though if they are too formal then they aren’t going to pass my excruciating compatibility test!) A social would usually be in one of my favourite cafes, discrete and caffeinated, definitely public but not too public… Chat, and hopefully some giggles.

So that’s a social. What is a date?

This  is where I get a bit muddled. What is it? Where does the social meet give over to the date? Here is the crossover for an initial social or date…

  • coffee
  • conversation
  • laughs
  • sussing each other out

None of that is scary. None of it at all! So why does the D-word send fear into my heart? Maybe that’s exactly it? My heart. Sex can be as impersonal as you like, functional, friendly, devoted or loving. Perhaps even a combination of the four? As a single woman, I can get what I want physically easily enough. If I choose to. However, recently I have stopped looking. I have still been taking care of my own needs, but not had someone on hand to use my body in the way that I have started to crave. The taste, touch and smell of a man are a heady combination that stimulate my sensory erogenous zone. And yet I hesitate. Sex for the sake of sex has lost its appeal. And I am left to consider my options. And I talk to friends about dating, and they all seem to have a different view of dating, and the rules that surround it.

This is the dance we must do.

  • No farting or burping.
  • No family or friends to be introduced too soon
  • Hair
  • Make up
  • Nice outfit
  • Don’t tell them your kinks
  • Don’t show them you like them.
  • A little drama between the first and second date is helpful.
  • Show yourself as attractive to others on your first date
  • No mobiles at the table

(This list is not conclusive, but my head is spinning just reliving those conversations I had to top)

Am I the only person who doesn’t know the rules?

How did an intelligent (or so I’m told) woman get to my age and not have any idea??

So I dug a little deeper. I’m not one to panic, but a deep understanding began to settle in the pit of my stomach that if I don’t start to learn these things then I may be single for a lot longer than I had imagined. And I don’t want Doxy to die and leave me!

If I listen to what these people tell me, my trusted companions, I will end up in all kinds of trouble. But I have been reassured that I don’t have to change who I am… Oh No!!

Let me condense my findings so far:

You show your potential mate the blank canvas of you.

Then, once they have fallen in love you shatter their illusions by letting the real you out.

All the while keeping your fingers crossed that they don’t reject you and your quirks, leaving you a shredded version of yourself, in a pit of black despair at never finding love again!!

If that’s the dance, I’m pleased I have two left feet!

I’d be really interested to learn what others think on this, I wonder if there is any right or wrong answer?

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The dance we must do was first published on A Leap of Faith

CAN’T DO IT!

Naked thigh with a lion tattoo tied into a futomomo with rainbow rope. Shared for the post Can't do it.
My beautifully bratty friend, as tied by me.

My brain was screaming loudly, though my mouth remained clamped shut. Silent.

Staring at the blank screen in front of me I had been counting down the hours until my deadline. That had now passed, words for the extension request almost failing me too. It was the worst case of block I have ever experienced and the cause of it was entirely unknown. The screaming continued, louder by the day. Drowning out every little piece of understanding that sat in the recesses of my brain. Strange how running quieted my grey matter brat. While thundering around the trails I could form sentences, prove my understanding and make headway with the words.

As soon as I sat down to that little screen the paragraphs evaporated.

They came eventually. Dribs and drabs of incoherent blathering. Not up to my normal standard, but technically I wouldn’t need to hand this one in to get a pass mark so I could afford this temporary glitch. Stretching back in my seat I growled. The frustration coming out in a growl of rage, my inner brat vocalising for the first time. With her voice came hot tears, burning at my eyes and clawing to get out. Angrily swiping them away with my sleeve I knocked the laptop with my elbow and brought up the internet browser.

Fuck It!!

As I’m here I’ll just have a quick look… 

My Xhamster login was automatic, and my favourites easy enough to pick through, to find exactly what was going to hit the spot. Hot tears dried and dormant folds began to heat and swell. Dropping my hands to my pussy, stroking gently in time the slaves hands as he stroked his mistresses clit. Delving into my inviting wet hole with more vigour than I’d realised I had in me while his colleague fucked her withe shiny black dildo gag. Climaxing with the Domme on the screen as her body was wracked with sensation, gushing over my cushioned chair as her mouth poured obscenities at those caged boys.

The brat was quiet, for the first time in a couple of days. Sated…

Maybe now the brat has cum the words will follow.

Can’t do it? Won’t do it, until she gets her way.

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Can’t do it! was first published on A Leap of Faith.

Balls, beautiful balls…

Masturbation Monday week 239 prompt by Mx Nillin -- image of their cock with multiple hands touching it
Thank you to MXNillin for this amazing picture prompt for Masturbation Monday

Balls are one of my favourite parts of a man!

There, I said it.

They aren’t quite as much of a turn on as strong forearms when you wrap them around me when I am feeling fragile and vulnerable, or send me into reverie like your hands do over a cup of coffee, and they won’t tell me as much about you as your eyes, twinkling with mischief, lust or love. I can’t savour them while you are dressed, like I can your ass and thighs as you climb the slope ahead of me, and rubbing my finger tips over your closely cropped hair is much more acceptable in public if that hair is on top of your head…

But still, I love balls.

I find them fascinating. I love kneeling between your legs and gazing up at your face while I wax your shaft. Thumbing the pre-cum into your shiny head and dropping my eyes I pulled my gaze down to your sac. Those little goosebumps, watching them grow as the skin contracts, dancing under my delicate breath.. My tongue snaking down to tease those little lumps, I’m salivating as the tiny nubs caress my taste buds, drool escaping my lips as the sensation drives my mouth wild. Inhaling deeply, stealing your essence from that beautiful flesh before parting my lips and devouring the objects of my desires. Hollowing my cheeks and sucking you in, hand still stroking your straining shaft firmly now as I raise my eyes to meet yours once more. Trailing my left hand down betwen your buttocks I stroke your tight hole, tease you with fingers lubed by the saliva now dripping from my chin. Your jaw clenches, breathing shallow, entire body thrumming with energy. The building tension relentless.

God, I love balls…

I love the way you are so strong and confident, mastering my mind and body. Your dominance makes my pussy clench with each. Little. Word. that you care to toss in my direction.

But when I am there, worshipping every last pore, I am the one that holds you, and your power in my hands.

Illuminated sign saying Kiss my butt and lick my balls.

Check out the memes below for more wonderful posts:

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Balls, beautiful balls. was first published on A leap of faith.

 

Acceptance for April

Black and white picture o two naked ladies making an asymmetric shape not dissimilar to an A. It is the main picture for Acceptance of April
Myself and Dr Lovelace captured by Dark Lion Photos

It seems that April is here, and so is the April A2Z blogging challenge. I saw others completing this last year and wished I’d known about it sooner, vowing to join in with the month long meme this year.

Unsurprisingly I had completely forgotten about it! But then I saw a scattering of posts yesterday, and thanked my lucky stars. So here I am, on April the first, diving headfirst into the words.

A is for Acceptance.

Not only acceptance of the blogging challenge, which I’m looking forward to.

It is acceptance of my need to plan. I have an alphabet of prompts in store, and if I hope to achieve the full list I won’t be able to blag my way through the workload.

But then, something else happened.

While flicking through my emails I saw this post by Molly Moore. And it reminded me of Tabitha Rayne’s 30 day orgasm fun. When this one came out last year I was mid-task which meant I couldn’t join in. However, this year… This Year! This is my year… And I have added it to my acceptance list for April.

And then there is acceptance that sometimes, ever so occasionally, life gets in the way and stops me from achieving things exactly when I hope to. I may not have a theme as such, but I have got enthusiasm, and a list of ideas. My aim is to make this an interesting month of reflection, smut and mischief, but in order to make it enjoyable for me (so I can go the distance) I need to accept that I’m not perfect.

I’m pretty close, but it’s ok to fall short occasionally.

 

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Acceptance for April was first published on A Leap Of Faith

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