Happy Thursday!

Pre-lunch date HNT:

Jewelry is more chainmaille by my sister :)

Again, if you like it, check out her store here: LilMouse.Etsy.com

Dreams

You've been walking in my dreams again, teasing me with wisps of your scent, hints of your skin. 

Nothing like a narrative, nothing coherent enough I can write it here and sink my teeth into it. 

No.

Even when your eyes are all wide and green and glassy with tears in my head, you're a tease. 

You'd give me everything, but I'm always left wanting more of you.  

Sovereign

in my mind
wicked thoughts
like trembling fingers race
through the laces of the preconcieved
unbinding my own bodice a trick mastered
now a Master, free to usurp the throne

propriety stands unmanned
by bearer of gentile face
and remanned anew
with wearer of the silken grace
I brandish this sterile sword
I consecrate the wanton
devilish fiends who long
to make forgotten

the laws and tradition,
fold to dark submission

I unleash
with every
thrust,
the Might,
Never Meant to be
No ecstacy,
no fantasy
subliminal
could I fulfill,
until these thoughts
become visible

-Hummingbird

Hummingbird is a good friend, whom I originally met on a sexuality education board almost 10 years ago. She ended up in my city by unrelated means, and we finally met in-person and struck up a friendship that's lasted through a very tumultuous few years. 

She is now really exploring her Domme side, and this was inspired by a discussion we had about gender, strap-on play, and the forbidden.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as me!

Sunday

Totally, obliteratingly exhausted. 

But yesterday was amazing.

Bottoming to my lovely Lucivar, then the Cunning Linguist came to stay at the house and we all went to the munch, then play party afterwards.

We meant to go to the FetLife party after that, but we somehow got a little tied up... which is to say two pretty girls did. 

There will be details when I'm not so tired....

Morning, and the Kitchen Table

In my mind, he is at the kitchen table. 

The one in my breakfast room, in that house in my head. He is bent over it, arms stretched wide and tied to the legs of the table. His legs I leave free, wanting to be able to move him around a bit.

I am behind him, admiring the line of his naked ass, enjoying the way that his balls press so helplessly beneath him, peeking out from his wide-spread thighs. 

He is naked, of course. He does not wear clothes in our home. 

I am trailing my fingers over his skin- gently, so gently, and he is whimpering and squirming. He does not know what is coming- I do not even know what is coming, because I haven't decided yet. The kitchen is such a delightful place to play, so full of objects with which to hurt him, to fuck him, to force him to make those delightful little sounds of pain and pleasure for me. 

Wooden spoons are a favorite of mine, and I have that delightful little Ikea toy which stays in the kitchen specifically for use on him- I still don't know what its culinary use is.

I have fresh ginger root, and I have cucumbers. I have fingers and teeth and fingernails.

I am idly stroking him with my nails as I muse, the sensation so soft that it's almost ticklish, and enjoying the little sounds he makes, the squirming. Enjoying the way that the morning sunlight slants through the windows and paints golden shadows on his skin. He is waiting for the pain, waiting for my pleasure, and he doesn't know yet how that will come. Judging by his body, by the way that his ass wriggles against me and his cheek is pressed into the wooden table, judging by the peaceful look in his eyes and hardness of his cock against the table, he doesn't care. 

I love that.

Love that he doesn't care what I do to him. Love the depth of his desire to please me. 

Beautiful, beautiful boy, on so many levels. 

Suddenly, I realize that I'm dripping wet and all that I want is to reward him, reward me, for this beautiful peace in his eyes, this beautiful desire to serve me. 

I know that he feels the moment that I decide what I want, feels the change in my body, and his own tenses in anticipation... and trepidation. 

I love that trepidation. 

I'm untying him now, drawing him to his knees again and retying his wrists to his throat, with maybe a foot of room to move them. It's enough, for what I want from him. 

And then I am hopping onto the table, my legs wide around him, drawing him in to me and wrapping my thighs around him, trapping him against the heat and desire of my body.

I can feel his eagerness, his desire, along with his breath hot against my thighs as his fingers find my lips, parting me and his lips touch the heat of me. 

And then his mouth is on me, his tongue working its way up my lips, swallowing my desire for him and I am groaning and wrapping my fingers in his hair just to have something to cling to. When he looks up at me, his face framed by the creamy whiteness of my thighs, I want to wrap myself around him and keep him forever, and at the same time watch the blood trail in rivulets over his body. Instead, I let him see the heat in my eyes, the desire in my face, before dragging him by his hair back to his task. 

I can feel his tongue inside of me, lapping at me, swallowing my desire, my need, and it makes me grown and roll my hips. God, it feels good, but it's not what I want. He knows it, knows that it teases me. This is his subtle revenge for the many times I've teased him, but I don't care because it feels so damned good. 

Just before I get impatient, though, he draws his mouth up incrementally, finally finding my clit and the sensation is so exquisite that I almost cum then and there. Then his fingers are finding their way inside me and stroking that place in me while his soft tongue works my clit and I am moaning and writhing against him, my thighs tightening around his head and dragging him even even harder into me and God it feels so fucking good and I want to grind into his face, fuck him, hurt him, draw him tighter into me, devour him alive, and never, ever let him stop doing this.

And then the orgasm is building, and I can feel it and I know that he can feel it, that he can feel the stiffening of my body and the increased urgency of my movements, know he can feel the demand in my thighs around his face and his own pace is increasing, his fingers faster, harder inside me and its enough to throw my head back in a low groan as his mouth is still on me and suddenly it's there and I'm cumming and making low animal noises in the back of my throat and he knows to back off now while I'm writhing against him and I'm fucking myself with his fingers and my hands are still clenched in his hair and the knowledge I'm clenching hard enough to hurt him just makes me cum harder and I'm moaning as it rolls over me, and over me, and over me while his gentle tongue prolongs me until suddenly it's over and I sag against the table, a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

And I look down at him, look at his mouth smeared with my arousal and watch him deliberately lick his fingers clean of me and I smile at him, lazy and sated now, and draw him up to me for a long, slow kiss, taking my desire from his mouth and giving him back my contentment and pleasure. 

This post brought to you by the letter P

So, Lalana has a cool little thing going on at her blog- a meme, but not the usual annoying, MySpace style ones. 

From her blog:

Here’s the game:
You leave a comment (asking for a letter) on this post, and I’ll assign you a letter. You write about ten things you love that begin with your assigned letter, and post it at your place. When people comment on your list, you give them a letter, and the chain continues on and on.  Be nice if you comment, or I might just assign you “Q”.

As you can tell, I got the letter P. So here goes:

1.) Penises! I love cocks, I really do. I like their shape and texture and sensitivity and the way that the really hard ones can be used like catapults for M&Ms (remind me to write about that one day...). I love playing with them, and sucking them, and hurting them, and ah hells... I just love cocks. 

2.) Pussy. Yes, you know that was coming. I like boys and girls. Mostly, I'm a boob girl, but this is about the letter P. And I do like pussy, yes, yes I do. I think they're beautiful, and smell and taste yummy! More, please!

3.) Paddles. Paddles rock. They're easy to find, easy to make, and can be so sweetly naughty or ridiculously painful. My personal favorite paddle came from DomCon 2008!

4.) Packing. Ok, I'm more curious about this than loving it, but give me a break. This isn't the easiest letter. I just got my SpareParts Joque strapon harness, and one of it's coolest features is that it was designed not only for sex, but for packing. 

My boi side really, really wants to try this out. 

5.) Pansexuality. I don't really call myself bi anymore, it just doesn't seem to apply. Bisexual implies a gender binary that I don't know if I really agree with anymore. I'm attracted to a spectrum of people: Manly men, feminine women, girly bois, boyish girls and everything in between. 

6.) Playing (with partners I trust). That's not just for bottoming, by the way. Believe it or not, but Topping can be pretty vulnerable, too, and a poor partner can really screw with your confidence in an arena where confidence is super-important. 

7.) Parties! I love our local play parties, and I'm 2 for 2 at bottoming to and being suspended by my instructors at kink conventions :) I can't wait for Frolicon!

8.) Porn, Good. I love good porn, although there's not much of it around. Mostly I'm all about some gay porn, or that made by women, for women. It's so much yummier than "normal" het porn, which is totally focused on showing the guy as a super-stud. *yawns* No, thanks. I want to see everyone actually enjoying it, not just showing off for the camera.

9.) Partners, My. I think I've already gone one about this at length, so I'll keep this part short. I have amazing partners, and I adore them. *hugs*

10.) Panties! You knew it was coming!

 

Still here

I'm still around, just depressed with the cold and not wanting to write. 

When added to a lot of stress and some nasty possibilities hanging over my head... well, my muse is hiding in the corner under a bunch of blankets and wrapped around a mug of tea. 

Today, however, my new strap-on should come in and minimally tomorrow will involve HNTs of it. 

2009 Conventions

So, I'm registered for Frolicon 2009 in April, and have arranged to do some Dungeon Monitoring.

My hotel is reserved- 2 rooms, since my AAA rate is cheaper than the convention rate- and roommate arrangements have been made (yay Terry and Lucivar!).

I've also put in Jack's and my volunteer cheat sheets for SouthEast LeatherFest in June, and reserved (1) room for that. Roommate arrangements pending, but probably Terry and Lucivar again?

I've also already been told I'm on staff for Dragon*Con on Labor Day weekend again, but will need to make hotel arrangements for that- ASAP. D*C rooms sell out really, really fast. (In fact, the two main hotels are already sold out!)

After that will be DomCon in October, which I've not yet made arrangements for. I think these four will probably be my only conventions this year. More than that is just unwieldy and expensive. 

I'm excited- I love conventions, and I also love planning so this works exceedingly well for me. I am such a geek- I honestly find it fun to make arrangements and plan things out like this. It's an interesting challenge to figure out just the right way to make complicated arrangements simple and convenient for everyone involved, and I excel at it. 

Not, of course, that I would ever toot my own horn. ;-)

Cleaning off my desktop

Some semi-random pictures of me:

I did mention I get *filthy* horseback riding, right?

Changing clothes after washing up with the hose

Rape, and not the fun kinky kind

Go read this Dan Savage column, and it's attendant comments.

Go on, read it. I'll be here when you get back.

Now see why I'm just a teensy bit homicidal? Sure, maybe the commenters were trolling. Maybe I should ignore it, and them.

But I can't, see, because too many people still honestly believe that.

Honestly believe that being drunk and not screaming, not slugging him, mean consent.

Hell, I know men who still believe that being drunk means consent.

Let's make something clear.

It doesn't.

Sure, I'm probably preaching to the choir here. But I don't care. I need to preach this little sermon, and I don't care who to right now, because it hits too close to home. It tears open my own scars a little too deeply, a little too bloodily.

And now I'm bleeding rage and decade-old pain, and I've got to fling the blood and pain somewhere.

Congratulations, you're reading this and therefore the lucky recipient.

See, I was raped.

Sort of, kind of, quasi-date-couldn't-ever-prove-it-in-court raped.

But you know what? To the scars in my head, it was rape. To the scars on my heart, and on my sexuality, it was rape.

He was my 'boyfriend'. Read as: I had a gigantic crush on him, I was a naive kid, and he found it amusing that he could get me to do damned near anything.

When he broke my hymen fingering me too roughly, he laughed. Thrilled he'd 'popped my cherry'. I still cringe at that phrase. I cried for over an hour. It hurt, and I hadn't wanted it.

When we had sex, I wasn't ready for it. I cooperated, because I thought I was 'supposed to'. I told him I didn't think I was ready for this, that I didn't want to.

He kissed me, told me to trust him.

And because I was 15, and I wanted so badly to please him, wanted so badly for him to want me like I wanted him, I cooperated.

Should I have stopped him? Of course.

But like so many women, I was trained not to fight back. Trained that the men I was in relationships with had a certain right to me, to my body.

It hurt.

There was no fun to it, no feeling good. There was no hymen in the way anymore, but I was young, and scared, and not really aroused at all, and it just hurt. I was so grateful when he finished. I wanted to curl up and cry, but I didn't want my sister to know anything was wrong.

We went horseback riding the next day.

He broke up with me on the next school day.

No, it wasn't a terrible, violent, forced-at-gunpoint rape.

And that may have you shaking your head and saying, "sad story, but so what?"

Well, here's 'what'.

I'm 24 years old. This happened nearly 10 years ago. And I still have nightmares about it. And in those nightmares is mixed in what-I-should-have-dones, and the guilt for not doing it. Because you see, even though he pushed me into it, I am the one with the guilt. I am the one who should have stopped it.

After all, he was just being 17, y'know? Of course he'd try to have sex if he could... of course he wouldn't take a 15 year old virgin's fears into account.

Of course the 15 year old virgin should have had the balls to tell her older boyfriend whom she worshipped, "no," to something he wanted.

Of course it was my fault.

In fact, I'm willing to lay even money that if you ever asked him, if you ever found him and looked him in the eye and asked him, "Did you rape Bella?" that he'd be shocked, appalled, and offended. Of course he didn't.

I didn't scream.

I didn't hit him.

I didn't fight him.

Of course it wasn't rape.

And nearly 10 years later, that haunts me still.

That closes my cunt with fear and expectation of pain, and stops me from having sex with my lover for nearly a year.

That makes me break down in scenes even with people I thought I trusted.

That makes me terrified to drink in public even with people I love and trust around me.

Call it what you want, but in my head- and in my heart and more importantly, in my sexuality- it was rape and it's still left scars.

Being a little drunk and thinking, "she'll some around," is not an excuse, and it's not consent.

Post-coital HNT

These taken post-coitus Wednesday afternoon :-D

And my new pretty necklace, courtesy of my Leather  Sister. If you like it, check out her store.

She does a number of really cool weaves and makes gorgeous jewelry I'll be featuring in my next few HNTs. She's also in dire need of income right now, so buy from her :-p

Homecoming

I just had sex again.

Like, real vaginal intercourse. 

Shut up, I know that's a heterosexist view, but when you're in a het relationship and can't have penis + vagina sex, well, it suddenly seems like the Only Kind That Counts. You know, that Thing-You-Can't-Have thing.

Now, PC-stuff aside....

I HAD SEX AGAIN!

You cannot possibly know how happy that makes me, how relieved. I've had vaginismus for years. Short version: that means sex hurts. Bad. My cunt doesn't dilate, and open up in prep for penetration. 

I've been working on it slowly, for months. Fingers, a slim dildo. Lots of prep, lots of lube, lots of fantasizing and alwaysalwaysalways stopping if it started to hurt. 

It's been a lot of fucking work, quite frankly, and there's been more than once when I wondered if I'd ever manage to have sex again, if it was even worth it. 

There have been so many times when I couldn't manage even a finger (and I have small hands) when I just bit back tears and knew I'd never have sex with my partner again. 

I've been terrified in the back of my head for over a year now that we would never fix this, and that one day he'd just get tired of it, tired of me and my myriad health and head issues, and just find someone else less fucked up, less hurting, less broken. 

But today, I've been fantasizing since sucking him off last night of him returning the favor, fantasized about the way his lips feel against mine... and I don't mean the ones on my face. I've been fantasizing about the scrape of his stubble against my inner thighs, and his fingers parting my cunt. 

But I've been bleeding for a week, and rather profusely at that.

Until today.

So today, I dragged him down to me, met his lips with mine and kissed him for a long time. I love the way that when I kiss him, the world disappears. Love the scent of him rubbed into my skin. I don't believe in anything like soul mates anymore, I don't think. But I do believe that he is my complement, the one I want to spend my life with. 

Yes, I love other people. I've never known how not to, never known how to only love one person. But he is the one I want to grow old next to, the one I want to spoil grandkids with.

So I kissed him, and all of this passed through my mind in that eyeblink that you get sometimes when the entire world comes together perfectly. 

I kissed him, and I don't even remember how we ended up with his fingers in my cunt, his face between my legs. I remember moments, beautiful moments, but I couldn't give you a timeline, a narrative. Just that we were kissing, and then his mouth was on my through my panties and then my panties were gone and his lips were on my cunt and his tongue was on my clit and I was moaning and writhing and GODS it felt so good. 

He loves going down on me, he really does. I never used to be that into it, but Jack has made me a convert. I'll never like it as much as I like reciprocating, but, well... that would be hard.

(No pun intended)

I don't remember how we got there, but his fingers were in me, one and then I was asking for two shortly before I came, and I was riding his fingers, my hips bucking against his face, against his mouth, and I could see him framed between my thighs, watching my face and I was moaning and I could feel the orgasm building, building and just out of reach. I remember riding his fingers, bucking and pressing,  shoving his fingers against that spot inside of me and then suddenly it was almost there and I was grinding my clit against his face and then cumming, god I was cumming and shaking and arching and in my head I was screaming but I think I was only making those whimpering noises I made when I cum. 

Jack is telling me that I gasp when I cum, that I go rigid and shake, that my mouth falls open and my eyes go wide. He says I shake, forward and back against him. 

I don't know. All I know is the memory of the orgasm running through me until I didn't know if I could take anymore, and then his tongue would flick gently one more time across my clit, making me jump and gasp again. 

I remember going limp, my hands falling to my thighs from his hair as he went to clean up a little, and it occurred to me that maybe.... maybe... that I wanted to try. 

And we did. 

It hurt. I won't pretend otherwise. I don't know if I'll ever have sex without it hurting again, but Goddess of Night and Lovers it was so wonderfully worth it. 

The feeling of him filling me, slowly rocking into me and pressing until he was all the way inside of me, the homecoming of it. 

I've missed his cock inside me, missed him filling me up inside, missed the closeness and the intimacy of it. 

As he rocked in and out of me, I kept waiting for it to hurt more, waited for the pain to become too much, like it so often has before. 

Only it didn't.

And then my legs were around his waist and his cock found that spot in me and I was moaning and whimpering, "Harder..." and he complied and I felt it building again, that spot that feels so goddamned good and then he was cumming and it felt like the best thing to ever happen to me. 

I don't remember coming down, just my arms wrapped around him and then I was shaking- laughing and crying and whispering, "I missed you so much," and, "I didn't know if I'd ever be able to do that again."

I'm still grinning like an idiot. 

And yes, I'm sore. 

But I don't give a rat's ass. 

I'm just thrilled to be back among the sexually active!

Genderfuck

You are bending over the tea table, cleaning the remnants of my afternoon tea scattered across the inlaid wood. Your pretty dress, in a jewel-tone purple which complements your coloring, is riding up your hips as you bend over in front of me, showing your matching little thong.

I am just smiling, lazily, enjoying the view, fully aware of how intentional that is on your part. You're such a little slut, and I love it.

I'm sprawled in my favorite chair, legs wide and arms spread over the back of it's soft upholstery, jeans stretched tight across my cock, tshirt riding up a little over my stomach as I watch you bending over; your lovely, feminine legs stretched even longer in matching heels and that hungry little ass of yours eagerly outlined.

"Come here, cunt." My voice is curt, but you know me well enough to hear the thread of pleasure in it. Even as you're turning I'm sitting up, leaning forward and grabbing your hair- long and chestnut brown for today- and forcing you to your knees between my widespread thighs. My free hand deftly unbuttons my fly, drawing my cock from my jeans, the alabaster length of it catching the sunlight as you lick your lips eagerly. Slut.

"Show me how my little whore pleases her Master," I tell you, yanking your head sharply down to my cock and leaning back in the chair again.

You respond as eagerly as always, hungry as always, lips pink around me and I groan in pleasure at the sight, dragging your head down until you choke. I love the little tears that form int he corner of your eyes, smearing your careful makeup as I hold you there, love the tension in your body as you try not to fight me for the air your body craves nearly as much as it craves my cock.

No, I can't feel your lips, your tongue, on my cock- can't feel the heat of your mouth through the silicone phallus, but this feeling of my hand in your hair and the tears and need in your eyes- this I can feel, and this is all I need.

I want to keep fucking your mouth, and I do, dragging your head up and down on my cock, holding you there until you whimper with the need for air before letting you up, only to do it again. I realize at some point that I'm standing, that I've angled my beautiful opalescent cock down, pressing it so deep into your throat that your breath is hot and desperate on my groin and that realization makes me groan deep in my throat in contentment and arousal.

Abruptly, I have to fuck you. Have to press myself deep into that pretty little ass of yours, watch you moan and press back into me, and I yank you off of my cock, loving the little sound of disappointment youmake even as you suck in air as greedily as you suck my cock.

Your respite isn't long, though- is it ever?- because I am dragging you up by your throat, shoving you down over the table and whispering in your ear, my voice low and evil, "I hope you sucked my cock good, little whore, because your mouth is the only lube it's getting." You are moaning again, pressing back into me, and I know that right now you don't care. Right now, I could slice you open and bleed you out, and you wouldn't care as long as my cock was deep in your ass and fucking you.

Beautiful, hungry little whore.

Then I'm pressing into you, and I don't care anymore either, all I want is to be sheathed in you as deeply as possible. I come to myself long enough to grab your hair again, yanking your head back and warning you, "break anything on this table and you'll have needles in your cock every day for a week," before I'm fucking you, thrusting into you and it's the most wonderful feeling in the world shoving home inside of you.

You're making those sexy, needy little sounds again, pressing back into me, and my hands are on your throat as I bent over you, pressed into you and fucking you hard. "Look at my pretty little whore opening her ass for her Master." Thrusting in time with every word, my fingers tightening on your throat and your hips are shoving back into me with every thrust, hungry little slut. "C'mon, whore, fuck your Master's cock," I hiss in your ear and your breath is gurgling a little as you roll your hips desperately, desperate for my cock as deeply inside of you as I can shove it, as you can take it.

The base of my cock is pressing my clit with every thrust, and I'm moaning now, releasing your throat only to grab your hips, my fingers curling into that little curve of your pelvic brim and yanking you back onto me hard, enjoying the slight pain sound it forces from your bruised throat.

You're so beautiful like this, sprawled over the tea table, thong yanked out of the way and your dress rucked up around your hips with my cock disappearing into your eager little ass. I'm angling my hips a little now, dragging my cockhead over that spot in you, feeling you shiver a little as it hits, my fingers bruising tight on your hips as I pound that spot over and over until you're screaming a little beneath me, shaking and tightening around me and I laugh with pleasure and release.

Slowing a little, not quite ready to relinquish your beautiful little ass, my strokes more liesurely now as my mind turns to my own orgasm and the beauty of your body laid out for my pleasure. Almost reluctantly I draw myself from you, to a last whimper as my hands are tangling in your hair again and dragging you back to your knees.

"Get rid of this, bitch," I tell you, gesturing impatiently to my cock, watching you fumble at the harness, dragging it and my jeans off together and knowing that you can smell my arousal. I lay back in my chair again as you set my cock aside for cleaning, kneeling again between my spread legs and licking your lips.

I'm laughing a little now, low and throaty. Making you wait, making us both wait while you can smell my arousal thick in the air. Finally, just as you're about to start whimpering again and my own body is screaming at me that it's time and past, I grab your hair again and pull you to my waiting cunt.

My clit is engorged, a small cock all on its own, and your mouth is as hungry as your ass as you fasten onto it. You're still learning what I like, but it only takes one impatient smack to your head to remind you to be gentle here, but then your tongue is against my clit and your fingers in my cunt and I'm thrusting my hips again, eager myself now as the heat is building up in my stomach my groin. It's arrowing to my clit where your lips and your tongue are working while your fingers stroke that spot inside me and suddenly I'm moaning and writhing. My fingers tangled in your hair and holding you there, thighs tight around your face and the pleasure is rolling over me in waves until my fingers and toes tingle and it doesn't let up for what feels like hours until I'm limp with exhaustion and pleasure. Your mouth gentle and indirect, keeping me spasming occasionally as I come down again and I'm dragging you up into the chair with me, my arms around you and my lips finding yours.

"Thank you, puppy," I whisper sleepily.

Many, many thanks to the Bungalow Dweller

This was written by the Bungalow Dweller, in response to Smiling, and emailed to me. 

The thought that I (and you, my lovely Lucivar) inspired something like this just makes me all kinds of wet. Thank you, sweetheart!

The flesh is consumed by the slow boil of craving, emotions, suppression, teasing and authenticity. Simmering, stirred, bubbling. The conqueror is the chef, sprinkling in spices, turning the heat up or down, bringing out all the flavor of the meat ... Verbal goading, impact play, making the meat tender, bringing out its flavor, basting it, preparing it. The meat twists and writhes ... needing, aching ... if the need is taboo, then shame mixes into the potent batch of spices, and so that the final taste will be thickly flavored with redemption... redemption at the acceptance and validation of the conqueror. To have the need, the aching, to be conquered is beautiful of itself. But he is only a roast at the butcher's until the conqueror prepares and consumes him ... marinating in the seduction, thoughts saturating his mind, as he craves to yield his power and direction, to feel the have the conqueror drink fill him, and drain him and soak of his flavor

each ritual of the engagement is like skirmishes in some colonial era battle. the body tied and whipped, balls squeezed, cock clothespinned ... games of endurance unfold, degradation, weakening the defenses, priming for the final assault... the feast is alive, and numbed by his weakness, taking in the glory of the conqueror's arousal, tasting the saltiness of his sweat, feeling feet pushed at his face, while a finger primes his hole for the taking... each move by the conqueror executed deftly with military precision, all leading inexorably to the pre-determined goal.

the conquest's battalions recede, seeking safety inside the city walls, if for no reason other than to prolong his defeat, to make his suffering sweeter.

The siege begins. The conqueror circles, teases, tries the defenses, planning the ending ... the soon to be conquered wonders how it will come, reduced to craving, begging, needing, embracing his hurt, tasting his own blood on the conqueror's kiss... imagining his own image ... quivering, bruised, "fuckmeat" scrawled on him, a pigtail plug protruding from his ass ... the conqueror is radiant, throbbing, grabbing the ears of his conquest, he begins to assault to the object's mouth ... grabbing at the soon to be conquered's cock, squeezing his balls "oh yes, suck me boy, I love how your cock throbs when you suck me..."

The object's mind becomes insane with need, drunk on his own vulnerability, mortified at how aroused he is and how much the conqueror enjoys his arousal. As cord laces his cock and balls, controrting them, he swells further, as though his cock might burst its own dimensions, or rip through the restraining cords ...

"I will finish you soon, love, your time is near, savor these moments" whispers the conqueror, withdrawing his phallus from the conquest's mouth and circling to the rear for assault. His hand traces his conquest's purple-ing cock, gathering pre-cum on his finger from it, he tastes, and then shoves the finger into the conquest's mouth "such a sweet flavor you are, love ..."

tasting his own fluid from the conqueror's hand, and lapping at the flesh on it, he feels the pig tail plug withdrawn. Lubed fingers roughly enter him and grease his hole. Moaning, he hears the conqueror's voice in his ear "here, I put my sword to rest," and with that his was filled with his lover's cock. Swollen and turgid, the conqueror filled his ass with cock and began a meticulous and relentless assault. He cherished each sensation, his head and body floating in the glory of this moment so long anticipated and so heartily awaited. His fucking converting from the precision of a cautious military advance to the abandon of a thorough rout, the conqueror claimed and marked his possession, vanquishing his conquest. Writhing, the conqueror felt his opponent's hand grip his tied cock, and as the conqueror's own cock raged within him, he felt the small death come over him. warmth cascaded across his body, followed by shivering, fluid shot forth from his cock, and his conqueror erupted in him ...

Hold me tonight

I want you to touch me tonight. To hold me and stroke my hair and promise me it will be all right while I cry my heart wounds clean.

I want your hands on me tonight tender, stroking and soothing. I want you to lie to me, tell me the truth, that it will all be okay. That the hurting will stop. The heart wounds will heal.

Lies and the truth, wrapped up together. 

Insincere promises and truthful lies, wrapped together in shiny paper with curly-que ribbons on top.

Hold me tonight, and touch me. Run your fingers over my skin and promise me that it will be all right. 

Day

I had a great time today with Jack, Terry, and Lucivar at the Reptile Convention and the High Museum of Art. Lunch with them at Chili's was fun, as was sitting around drinking tea and chatting at our house. 

Unfortunately, I have almost nothing good to day about any of it because my hip is killing me, and my hormones are trying hard to convince me that the fact I can't go out and view the full moon tonight is the End Of The World. 

Pretty much the moment Terry and Lucivar left and my distraction was gone, I started bawling. 

This sucks. 

Period + Full Moon = Heavily amplified emotions = Crying over ridiculous things

Shower HNT

Smiling

His ass is in the air, and I'm smiling. His shoulders pressed into the bed, his neck twisted painfully to look back at me, that beautiful, pleading look in his eyes. 

"Please," he whispers. "Please fuck me, please."

I am pressed tightly against him, purposely angling myself low, so that only my abdomen is pressed against that wanting, needing little ass, so that my cock juts out between his legs, too low to even brush his own. And I am smiling. 

His hips are rolling now, his body pressing back into mine, begging me along with his words. He knows that I want it, too. Knows that that cock in my head is even harder than the one jutting out from my hips, knows that my cunt is almost dripping with how much I want this. How much that I want to press into him, one sweet inch at a time. How much that I want to press in as hard as he can take, and then just a little harder. 

I never thought I was interested in strap-on sex. I really didn't. I thought that that cock in my head, the one that gets hard when a pretty girl flirts with me, or when I'm hurting a little boy, I thought it just meant I was a little crazy, a little off. 

I thought it meant I was a guy in a past life- it never occurred to me that part of me is one now. 

He's whimpering again while I'm ruminating.

I don't mind, I like to keep him waiting, make him beg and stew. I made him wait months before I finally fucked him for the first time. He can wait a few more minutes for this. 

Although I doubt he'd agree with me at the moment. 

I bring my attention back to him, back to the sweeping line of his back, the inverted heart shape of his so-feminine hips. Back to the soft down of his hair and the pleading green of his eyes. "Please..."

I laugh now, and lean forward, making him whimper as it presses my cock so tight against his, my hanging breasts pressed against his bowed shoulders and my lips dangerously close to his ear.

"Yes," I whisper, and with that I rear back and press myself into him.

I'm already lubed and ready, and it takes little effort to line myself up and press into him. 

Even the first time, I knew how to do this, the angle to press and how to open him up. In my head, I'm a man and I've had a cock all my life. 

And in his head, he's my pretty little cunt.

And I slide into him as easily as into the wettest woman, and we both breathe a deep sigh of contentment as I sheathe myself in him. His whimpering has started again, but there's a note of pleasure, of relief in it now as I start moving inside of him.

I'm warming up slowly, careful of my bad hip and just enjoying teasing him with my so-gentle movements. My hands grip the hollows inside his hips, small and pale against his skin while my hips roll in movements I learned long ago in belly dance.

I lean back a little, watching my cock as it rolls in and out of is body. This is so beatiful to me, beautiful in almost the same way as being fucked but so different. I love the sensations of it, they roll up, along the synthetic skin of my silicone cock, as real and deeply intimate as anything born from my body. I *know* the sensation of my cockhead popping softly from his ass. I *know* the pressure/relief/utter bliss of sinking my cock inside him. I know it as deeply and intimately as if this piece of silicone contained all the nerves of my body. Once upon a time, in another life, another incarnation, my body had a penis, and it, and I, still remember the sensations.

We still remember the sensations as I'm fucking him harder now, using my grip on his hips to slam him into me, and he's making small, eager noises and pressing back into me hungrily. We still remember the sensations as I draw out of him, only to slam back in, hard enough to bring a small pain sound to his lips and I'm laughing, laughing joyfully as I'm reunited with this part of my body I never had in this lifetime. Laughing joyfully as I'm fucking this boy spread beneath me in wanton invitation, laughing in pleasure as I'm slamming into him with every thrust and I'm letting go of his hips, letting go now to smack his ass in rhythm with my thrusting. I never understood why my lovers did that, never understood its power, its pleasure, until now and I am smacking him, alternating hands and cheeks as they redden beneath me and he makes low, gutteral sounds of need, desire, and contentment. 

This. This is what he was meant for, what I was meant for. This moment of deep connection and utter bliss, and my hip is getting tired now, warning me of impending soreness, and I change my angle, raking my cockhead over that spot inside of him, pressing into him, against him, drawing him with me, my hands returning to his hips just because I love the grip there, the hollows made for my hands as I'm fucking him and pressing into that spot over and over while his breathing is speeding up and he's moaning, loud and slutty and my arousal is dripping down my thigh as he explodes around me, deep, hoarse sounds ripped from his throat as I prolong it until I feel him rest limply against me. Only then, do I slow, gentle my hips and my hands, stroking him lovingly as I bring myself down, too, grounding myself in his body and stroking him, inside and out until finally my body tells me that it's time, I'm finished, and I roll myself slowly out of him, collapsing backwards on the bed with a low, masculine chuckle, an utterly feminine sound of joy.

And then his hands are gentle, loving, grateful as we unhook me, setting my cock aside for cleaning, and then we're spooning, his body warm and small and curled into his pleasure, his joy as my own is wrapped around him, safe and loving and intense and relaxed and happy and content. 

We sleep this way, drifting in and out of dreams whose pleasure cannot be as complete as this moment with him in my arms. 

And I am smiling.

Quote

"I'll remember it forever. She preached good."

"What did she say?"

"She said faith was letting God be what God wanted to be. Orishas. White Buffalo Calf Woman. Jesus. Mary. The earth. She said if you didn't do that, you didn't have faith. You had fear. That dogma and fanaticism was the absence of faith."

-The Fear of God, pg 95. B.A. Chepaitis.

Realization:

Strap-on sex feels like *sex* to me. Not like sexPLAY, but like *sex*. Intimate and scary and vulnerable and beautiful.

Just had a long discussion with Jack about where that means it falls in our definition of poly.

As a general rule, things that feel like sex to him are out: oral/anal/vaginal/shared masturbation.

Strap-on sex doesn't feel like sex to him, but it does to me. Where does that leave us?

Gist: It's still okay. As long as it doesn't damage the intimacy between us, which it doesn't for either of us.

What all this translates to? Say hello to my next toy:

Fucking Lucivar

I've been trying to put the words together in my head about my first time fucking Lucivar, but it's still too close. Still too viscerally a part of me, still too vulnerable. 

I can't make the words work. 

It was amazing.

Feeling him stretched over me, my small hand wrapped tight around his ankle, anchoring him, anchoring me. 

The beautiful sounds he made as I pressed myself deeper into him, the way that he shook and cried out as he came. 

The soft expression in his eyes of utter contentment as we curled up together afterwards.

I want to describe it with enough passion to do it justice, but I just can't make the words work.  

Interlude

He is on his knees in front of me, his face pressed tightly against my stomach, tightly into the soft fleece of my favorite sweatshirt. His arms are tight around my waist- not clinging, exactly, but holding me like something precious while my fingers tangle in the silk of his hair. 

My heart is filling with love for him, right here in my half-cleaned kitchen with its cold tile floor beneath his knees. 

New Years HNT

In new lingerie, no less!

New Years

I hope your New Year's was good, assuming you celebrate it. 

I don't usually. In fact, ever since Y2K, my tradition has been to sleep through it. (Funny story that, I first did that in the Bahamas. Seriously. Yes, I'm weird.)

But this year, Terry and Lucivar joined us, and we had a massive stock pot of Jack's favorite soup, exchanged various amusing- and poignant- stories, then nibbled chocolate fondue (once I *finally* got it properly melted, that is!)

After watching the Peach Drop on TV, sipping asti (both firsts for me, would you believe it?), we all piled into the guest bed to watch the best movie ever, Kinky Boots.

After another hour or two of more laughing and talking, we finally drifted to bed a little after 3am.

I don't make New Years Resolutions. 

I think it's kind of dumb, actually. If you can't resolve to do something, and do it, on a "normal" day, then what makes you think that you'll follow through on something like a holiday?

But I think. (Yes, I know, shocking, huh?)

I think about the previous year, and I think about the year to come. 

Less on the year to come, honestly, since if there's anything my life has taught me, it's not to assume that I have damn clue what will happen.

But 2008 was a hell of a year. 

• I started it broke, and finished it broke, with a nice summer of cash in between.
  
• Jack and I broke up (for all of 3 hours, but it was still a pretty serious shock to the system), and got back together, and in the process learned how strong we really are.
  
• I finally made some decisions about my career and graduate school.
  
• We moved 6 hours away, and into a home of our own. 
  
• Jack and I opened up our relationship, albeit slowly and with much, much arguing (this, in fact, is what precipitated our 3-hour break-up)
  
• I rejoined the kink community, learning massive amounts about myself in the process. 
  
• I met Kat and had the joy of exploring my first D/s dynamic as a Domme. 
  
• I met Jup and Skyye and Terry and Lucivar and learned more about myself as a sadist. 
  
• I finally got involved with horses again, and hopefully will continue in that.

I can hope and pray that 2009 is less eventful, but otherwise at least as wonderful.

Although that's going to be seriously hard to top :)