December 31, 2010

First Winter's Kiss - Friday Flash Fiction

He spread her parka over the snow and she lay down. Repositioning, he slipped on the ice, and slid down. She turned, laughing. He finished undressing as she watched over her shoulder, savoring the view. He was about to score the ultimate goal, directly between the uprights. Clambering up the ice, he slipped into her. His hand hooking her neck and accepted her first winter’s kiss.
Releasing her neck, his hand moved down her spine, squeezing her cheeks. His thumb probed incessantly deeper and found entrance.
(Use the picture provided to write a flash fiction of 66-86 words. incorporating the phrase, "...winter's kiss...")

Oh you wanted to see the girl
so what did you have in mind
something small and discreet
or, maybe, bigger and bolder

(Click for details on FFF!)
Other FFF Writers
Lusting Lola

December 24, 2010

Christmas Eve - Friday Flash Fiction

(Artwork is from a 70s Playboy cover by Haddon Sundblom,
who is rather more well known for his other Christmas art)
She was being an insufferable imp. I regretted having invited her to help wrap gifts for the family. Every time I turned around she was unwrapping a gift I had just wrapped. “Stop it!! Why are you doing this?” All she said was, "They’re not wrapped right,“ and sashayed out of the room. When she returned she had another mug of brandied eggnog.

She looked god-awful cute in her Santa's helpers outfit; high black boots, red skirt, wide black belt and gold buckle, and button-up red shirt with fluffy cuffs. It was topped off with a Santa's hat and her silky blond hair cascading over her shoulders. She had a brandy-laced grin plastered on her face. But even with all that, I was losing my patience and self-control.

My young distant cousin was testing my resolve, even the threat of a spanking was met by her flipping up her skirt, flashing red satin bikinis, and a sassy wiggle of her fanny. Frustrated, I finally backed her into the corner and barked, “This game is over!” Her response was a broad beaming smile as she unbuttoned her Santa shirt, unwrapping a gift that I would gladly re-wrap later.

(Click for details on FFF!)
(Use the supplied artwork to write a flash fiction of 121-199 words, incorporating the phrase "...unwrapping a gift...")

Other FFF Writers

December 17, 2010

Frederick - Dinner

Continued from The Other Side of Agnes

"Would you like to join me for dinner?"

She did not respond immediately, but looked at his basket, then at her own, and finally said, “For dinner? Oh, I was planning to have dinner at home...”

“A baguette?” he said.

She told him the baguette was for breakfast and that she had planned to just eat out of the cupboard, a small dinner. He insisted that she needed something much more substantial, and suggested seafood. He immediately had a restaurant in mind, within walking distance. She was enthused, and before she could waver again he took her basket, dumped the contents into his. The cashier ran them through the register and offered to set everything aside for them to collect later.

He beckoned to her to come along, taking hold of her wrist again, noticing how compliant she felt. He nearly had to drag her along to keep pace. He was moving quickly to assure she wouldn't change her mind again. He had been very surprised, shocked actually by her abrupt departure from his apartment last week and wanted to be sure she did not have a chance to change her mind this time. When they stopped for a signal light, he gathered her in more, wrapping her arm around his. "Ah, that’s better. You just need some leadership.”

“I see.” she said, smiling. He spoke half under his breath, “I doubt you do.”

As they walked down the street, it was clear she was taken off balance by his resolve, and seemed to be weighing things in her mind. They did not speak the rest of the way to the restaurant. “Here we are.”

It was an impressive place he knew and his favorite for this kind of first impression. He had cultivated relationships with the maître de and most of the waiters and they knew he was fond of bringing girls here; the whole ambiance of the place was seductive. It had a formality and richness to it, but was also comforting in an at home sort of way. They were taken to a table and two glasses of red wine arrived before they had settled in their seats. He offered a toast, “To a balanced meal.” She repeated his words, with a hearty smile. He returned her smile. They settled into a relaxed comfort and he could tell she had something to say.

She offered an apology for leaving his apartment last week, citing advice from her father. She clearly had a respect and reverence for the counsel of older men. He had noticed that already in her responses to him, although not always positively. He took advantage of her serious reverence, and teased back and forth with her. Finally, she called the game, “Whatever you say, Frederick.” They'd scored about even he thought, but just barely, and he said mostly to himself, “Ah, the girl is trainable.” She asked him to repeat himself, but he busied himself with the wine list, ignoring her question, capping the final move, for this segment of the game.

After a time, he re-engaged her in a discussion, now exploring her feelings, missing friends and others left behind, and her motives for moving to Paris.

"I wanted to get away from the sense of myself that I was a misfit; that I wanted something unattainable.”

“Agnes, I know we don’t know one another well, but I can assure you that you are not a misfit here.”

“You really think so?”


“Well, that is nice to know.”

When the waiter offered menus, he held up his hand and said, "We will both have the salmon." The waiter turned to Agnes to get her confirmation but Frederick spoke again, "And instead of the potatoes we would have green beans." When the waiter looked back at Agnes again she just smiled and settled back in her chair. As the waiter left Frederick looked over at her, saw the smile and could tell she was performing some sort of assessment. He busied himself with dishing out the salad and the bread, and the general presentation of the food, and left her to her musing. When she asked a question, he would answer it, but did not take any bait, nor was he led into any conversations. He persisted in managing the meal, the waiter, giving the impression that the conversations had ended and it was time to enjoy the meal, no more.

Finally when the meal was nearly over, she spoke up and broke the silence. She was dying to know more about Frederick, who he was, what he did, and most interestingly, what he was, because he was definitely not like any man she had known before and she was captivated; but, she was having great difficulty reading him. When she asked what kind of work he did, he said finance, acquisitions, takeovers, those sorts of things. She said she didn't know much about finance and started to say something about her father's advice. He abruptly interrupted her and said, “I am sure your father guided you well, that is plain to see by how you have turned out. But you are a grown girl, and you need guidance in the here and now.”

He was surprised but pleased with the look on her face. He had snapped her out of her daddy's little girl patter, and stricken a chord with her. He had been baiting and teasing her all along and was now pretty sure that he had just set the hook. He grinned to himself, sat back and waited for the coffee and crème brûlée. When it arrived, he took his time; commenting on the smoothness and delicacy of the flavors. He could see she was enjoying the dessert but clearly was anxious to be done in this restaurant. Finally the waiter brought the check, which he paid and took her hand, lifted her out of her chair and helped her put on her light sweater.

Once outside, he slowly walked with her back to the supermarket, having placed her hand on his arm again, and adjusted his gait to her natural pace. When they arrived, they collected their parcel and he said, “I shall walk you home.” At that she stopped walking, and because very quiet and seemed distressed.

He stopped and turned towards her. “Agnes? Is something wrong?”

“Frederick, I don’t really want to go home.”

“Where do you want to go, Agnes?”

She remained silent.

“Where do you want to go, Agnes?”

“With you.”

He said nothing, but abruptly turned the corner and headed down a side street. He noticed that she was again animated and was actually humming a little tune under her breath. He smiled to himself and headed around another corner, into a darkish little alley. She slowed her pace slightly, pulled at his arm, and said, "Frederick, where are we going?"

In response, he turned into a doorway, pulled aside a curtain, and said, "I think we need a small after dinner drink. This is a favorite little bar of mine."

They worked their way past the bar and tables, to a small sitting area in the back corner, with low couches and tables. As they moved past people, several of them said hello to Frederick, and nearly all of them took particular notice of Agnes, some with muttered comments, and even a couple of low whistles. She moved even closer to Frederick and clung to his arm, seeking the comfort and protection of closeness. Frederick accepted her discomfort and moved his arm up around her shoulder, pulled her to him, and when they reached the sitting area, ushered her to a seat on one of the couches and took a seat for himself in a chair off to her left, at a 90 degree angle. He noticed her looking at the space on the couch next to herself, clearly surprised and disappointed he had not sat down next to her. He lit the candle on the table, and when the waitress arrived, ordered snifters of B & B. There was soft jazz music playing in the background, and Frederick felt in his element and was pleased that Agnes was slightly off balance. It gave him both an advantage in the conversation, and a dilemma to solve and salve.

He listened to the music, and watched Agnes look around at the interior of the bar; a bohemian hangout. It seemed to be an oddity to her, many things she was not familiar with and as he watched, he saw more of her naivete showing through. Clearly this was not the kind of place she had ever been. As she looked around and he watched her, the waitress arrived with the drinks. As she bent over the low table, the front of her peasant blouse hung low, offering Frederick a clear and full view of her ample breasts. She noticed him noticing and they exchanged smiles of familiarity. She lingered, allowing him more time to appreciate the view. When she stood up to leave, Frederick looked over to see that Agnes had been watching the interaction. Frederick picked up a snifter, handing it to Agnes and lifted his own in a toast. He dismissed her concern with an off handed comment, "Gretchen is an old friend."

Agnes said, "She doesn't look very old." Frederick smiled, and took a sip of his drink, letting her quip pass for the time being.

"How do you like this place?"

"It is interesting, it is not like any place I have ever seen before, but it is comfortable and relaxed."

"I hope you will become accustomed to it. I come here often. It is a wonderful place to unwind from a busy day, and let go of my tension."

Agnes smiled but did not comment.

"So, if you have never been to a place like this before, what kinds of places did you go to, or did you not drink before I tempted you?" he asked with a wry smile.

"On the occasions when we went out it was usually to a bistro, and we drank wine. Places such as this surely exist at home, but young girls do not typically go there."

As they were talking, Agnes noticed that Gretchen returned and placed a silver serving tray on the far corner of the low table. There was an elaborately carved wooden box on the tray and a glass appliance that looked something like a kerosene lamp, but was something she had never seen before. She flashed a quizzical look in Frederick's direction and he answered, "Water pipe, hashish."

"Did you order this Frederick?"

"No, it is something they bring to all the tables back in this sitting area, but it is not to my liking most times. I can have it removed if it bothers you? I am not interesting in having any of it."

She shook her head.

"So, Agnes, you said "we" go to bistros, do you mean your family, or you and your friends? Or, perhaps young men take you to these places?"

"Well, my friends and I mostly, what you might call a girls night out, and on some occasions I would go on a date with boys and we often ended up at one of the bistros."

"You dated a lot, did you?"

"I wouldn't say "a lot" but sometimes on a weekend a boy would ask me out. I was fairly popular, but certainly not a lot."

Frederick continued to ask her questions about her dating habits, the kind of men she would see and what kinds of activities she enjoyed. He got the impression that she mostly went out with boys she knew from school or from the neighborhood, that they were typically her age and athletes, and that most of her dates were dinner, movie, museums, sightseeing, or combinations of these activities. He discerned that she had never really had any serious relationships, not surprising given what she had said about her father keeping a close watch on her in concert with her obvious daddy's girl desire to follow his will. He suspected she was not a virgin, but that she was pretty naive sexually. She exhibited a good bit of embarrassment and discomfort with some of his more personal questions, but she was forthcoming with answers, wanting to please him, no matter the nature of the inquiry. Probably a habitual characteristic of the daddy's good little girl, transferred to this interaction with another older man, a father figure.

After having a second B & B, he could see she was becoming a bit tipsy, a combination of these drinks and the wine with dinner, and the late hour. He took hold of her hand, and said, "Sweetheart, the night is over. It is time to head home."

Agnes was indeed tired but had enjoyed her time in the bar . . . 

December 10, 2010

King Sol - Friday Flash Fiction

(Image source: "King Sol" by Carolyn Weltman)
Red squatted down, scooting in close, my arm around her waist. Settling in, she completed the triad, actualizing Blue's fantasy. Leaning in more, she placed her hand on Blue's thigh, kissing her. She was shivering with desire from that first touch.

Deepening the kiss, lips stuck together, slowly peeling apart. Tongues dancing, darting around, over, under, thrusting; biting her lip. Gasping, and breathing heavily, Blue was afire with lust; perky breasts, gumdrop nipples, bright slutty red nails. Enthralled with being watched.

My nostrils were filled with the earthy damp fragrance of their arousal.

I reached in, scratching my thumbnail over her hypersensitive button, triggering a slow, shuddering, shaking, foot-cramping orgasm.

The action interrupted
(Click for details on FFF!)
Leaning in I whispered
Reds hand stroking me
it's good to be the King

(Using the supplied artwork, write a flash fiction of 107-127 words, incorporating the phrase "...shivering with desire...")

December 6, 2010

Year Three

"It has always been one or three, never two, never stop at two - - three, or more, is best"
The past three years of blogging have been a wonderful experience for me. An engineer and a technocrat; discovering an ability to write, to conjure up images, to construct fantasies, and tell stories, and humor, and interact with a readership that has been more than generous and kind.

This year has been an odd mix of articles and stories - like the continuation (and perhaps the end) of the Consensual Stalker series, even a "reading" and a couple of very expressive songs, particularly Far Far. Also, I included a fanciful zany, but wonderful little song that was "given to me" that you can find in the sidebar, Love Letter To Japan - - - - The Bird And The Bee.

This past year, I have tried to add in some new approaches, like the music, even including a reading. The one that made it to the blog was a reading of a story from a collection of erotica, Curled in a Ball. I have recorded a couple of my own writings but they were never posted, perhaps in the coming year they will show up.

I had vowed to myself to write more this year but not surprised, I didn't. In fact I have the same number of posts in 2010 as in 2009. In an effort to rectify that, I intend a couple of collaborations in the coming year, and I have recently started participating in Flash Fiction Friday, a weekly discipline that I have enjoyed so far and plan to continue, and invite you to join.

Writing this blog has brought me great pleasure and satisfaction. I am flattered and humbled by the acceptance of my offerings and thank you all, each and every, one and many.

Year Two - - - Year One - - - In the Beginning 

December 3, 2010

Always Remember - Flash Fiction Friday

(Source: "Always Remember Your First" - Mick Payton)

The fierceness of the attack took me by surprise. Who was behind me?

He yanked my blouse down off my shoulders; I struggled to push it back up. His arms were around me, unbuckling my belt and shoving my jeans down; I was losing the battle.

His urgency had me off balance. "No! Stop, please!" no reaction. He growled, "It's me, Luke," and he continued. "Stop! God! Oh Please!" I yelled, still he persisted. He hooked his chin over my shoulder, trying to contain and still me. His unshaven stubble was scratchy and roughened the skin of my neck.

I felt the cold hard pressure of his belt buckle, alongside his hot hard persistence.

Suddenly he pushed me forward over some bales of hay, pulled my panties aside, and continued.

(Using this picture, write a flash fiction of between 111-149 words, exactly between
is 130 words; and incorporating the phrase "...scratchy and roughened...")

November 29, 2010


Inspired by Stripping Agnes or Start here, Reeling in Agnes
He had been in Paris for two years now and was thoroughly content with his apartment in the Latin District, with it's small businesses, intermixed with apartments upstairs, and so many wonderful little shops on the street level. One shop he particularly favored was a small corner patisserie where he would have his morning coffee and read the papers. It had become his custom for the past few months, on Friday, Saturday and Sunday mornings. He was infatuated with the neighborhood and the wonderful mix of people, of all ages and backgrounds.

He had gotten to know the shopkeeper and the staff quite well, and had become a bit of a fixture, sitting back in the corner by himself each day, quiet, respectful, but also very curious about all of the people who would come and go. He would greet most people with a nod and gesture as they entered, and might exchange a word or two with those who he had become acquainted with, or perhaps strangers, those who caught his fancy. Admittedly the ones who caught his eye tended to be the younger girls, or the women out doing some shopping early in the day.

One Saturday he noticed an attractive young girl who came in, sat down and ordered a coffee and an almond croissant. She sat quietly a distance away, and seemed to be absorbed in herself and watching the traffic out the window. After watching her for a while he returned to his papers and forgot about her, until she got up to leave. He noticed her manner of dress, plain but attractive, perhaps even frugal. He guessed she must be a clerk in one of the shops in the area, or maybe even an au pair or house girl for some local family. He made note of her and watched her walk off down the street, smiling to himself. A very quiet and solitary girl, he liked that, he made a mental note to watch for her again.

Sure enough, on the following Saturday, late morning, there she was again. He sat down his paper, leaned on an elbow and studied her as she went about her coffee and croissant. She had a natural charm about her, delectable, and he was entertained by the pleasure she took in her meal. As she took her last sip of coffee and looked up, he gave her a big smile and said, "It is good?"

"Delicious," she replied, and added, "I only have one of these a week. I don't make a habit of it."

He gave her a slight nod and returned to his coffee. When he looked up again, she was leaving. He watched her leave, smiled to himself, she will be back next Saturday. He did not want to be too obvious and tip his hand so early on into the game.

Sure enough, the following Saturday there she was. As he was just getting settle and ordering his coffee, she walked in. He looked up and caught her eye. "Bonjour," she offered him, with a lovely smile.

"Bonjour mademoiselle," he returned. "Another croissant for you, today?" When she did not answer, he called out to the shopkeeper, "Two almond croissants, please; one black coffee and one coffee with milk." He paid for the food and ushered her towards a little table by the window. She followed his lead and sat down.

"What is your name?"


"I am Frederick. And, you live in the neighbourhood?"

"Yes. But, I'm new to Paris. I love it here. The city is so exciting. There is so much to see and do."

He continued to smile at her, nodding in encouragement, saying nothing but spurring her on as she told him about her Parisian discoveries. When the food arrived, he continued to offer reassurance and made sure she had everything she needed. They sat and talked as they drank coffee and ate their croissants.  He continued to encourage her to talk about her new life in Paris.  As she was finishing her coffee and setting her plate aside, he suddenly stood up and said, "Come with me and I shall show you where I live. It is a lovely view of Paris from the balcony."

She stood up too, but seemed to be struck with indecision. Before she could say yes or no, he stepped around the table, took hold of her wrist and started to guide her out. She picked up her purse and followed him out the door. Just as he had hoped, his swift and decisive movement, and authority, had captured her attention, and she was with him now. He walked up the street, turned into his building, and pausing a moment to be sure she was still with him, ushered her toward the stairway to his apartment. As he followed her up the stairs, he made note of her trim ankles, the shape of her calves, and musculature of the backs of her thighs. When they reached his landing he led her to the balcony outside of his kitchen.

"There it is. The rooftops of Paris." he said, and smiled at her, reengaging with her, standing close, touching his hand to the back of her arm. As she looked out over the rooftops, he stared at her, drinking her in.

"Ohhhhhh, how beautiful. How fortunate you are to wake up to this every morning." She turned and looked at him, then again back out over the view, and then suddenly she was saying, "Thank you, Frederick. But, I must go. I have so many errands to do today."

He looked at her face, turned slightly away from him, and recognized that fear in her. She seemed confused and disturbed. He decided not to hold her there, but showed her down the stairs again and out to the street. He said, "I hope I will see you at the patisserie again soon." They said their goodbyes, and she turned and walked off. He watched her as she went up the street, back the way they had come.

Next weekend he waited for her at the patisserie but she did not come in. He wondered if she had been scared off by his actions. He had been quite abrupt in inviting her to his apartment, perhaps she had feared something about him in that situation. Perhaps he had read her wrong? He wondered, and reviewed his approach in his mind, thinking he might need to adjust his pace with her if there was another opportunity. After a while he returned to his papers and let Agnes drift out of his mind.

Thursday evening he was doing his shopping for dinner in the market when he turned a corner, there was Agnes standing at the cheese cooler. He stepped up behind her, leaned forward to her ear and said, "Are you going to tell me that you only eat Camembert cheese once a week, as well?"

She was startled and pulled away. But then she turned her head, saw who it was and said hello to him. She turned around to face him and smiled. He said, "Hello Agnes, I am very pleased to see you again, I was afraid I had lost you." She looked at him but when she looked into his eyes, she quickly lowered her head, and said, "I am sorry for the way I acted at your apartment, but I was uncomfortable for some reason. I am glad we are meeting again."

He looked into her basket and saw that it contained just a single baguette.  He had already selected a nice bottle of wine, a loaf of bread and various produce for a large salad. "Would you like to join me for dinner?"

She did not respond immediately, but looked at his basket, then at her own, and finally said, "For dinner?"

November 19, 2010

The Hallway - Flash Fiction Friday

(Image provided by Sephani Paige, original source unknown)
As the bar closed, I stumbled out the door, thankful I lived around the corner. I headed down the sidewalk, turned right, and jumped into the liquor store for a bottle of Skyy. It was half a block to the apartment.

I buzzed through the door, crossed the lobby, and turned toward the stairway to the basement apartments. I blundered down the steep stairwell. With every step the stairs creaked, startling two young girls standing naked in the hallway below.

I started to walk by, but the one girl asked, "Got a cigarette?" Setting my bottle down, I offered her a cigarette and my lighter. The other girl suddenly knelt in front of her friend, who hooked a leg over her shoulder. Instantly, I felt invisible, inconsequential. I staggered back several feet and fell onto the steps, adjusting myself in my slacks.

The girl lighting the cigarette laughed, "Don't mind us."

"I don't mind at all," I grinned, and settled back on the stairs, staring, opened my zipper, and thought, "Don't mind if I do."

(Click for details on FFF!)
(Using this picture, write a flash fiction of 150-180 words, 
incorporating the phrase "...the stairs creaked...")

November 16, 2010

Tentacle Sex "Tentacle Dreams"

"The phrase "tentacle sex" evokes a standard trope of Japanese animation, featuring hideous demonic creatures having their way with helpless sailor-suited schoolgirls. The genre is a perfect example of unintended consequences; there was a time in Japanese cinema when any depiction of a penis was forbidden. Having penis-shaped appendages do the work instead of the actual item was the solution that the movie producers took to evade the rule, thus creating depictions that some would argue are far more graphic than the banned material could have been."

"The fact that this style of animation continues to be produced after the rules were changed, is evidence that there is a strong connection between sex and horror. In our imaginations, it is safe to ponder the sexual innocent taken by an inhuman horror and driven to the heights of ecstasy, beyond the limits of propriety. The ten stories in this anthology take that theme and run in a dozen different directions." 

I know some of the writers in this anthology, and have read some of the stories, they are beyond ordinary erotica, and very good. I encourage you to go to Tentacle Dreams at Republica Press and get a copy for yourself.  It is quick and easy, an immediate download, offered in a variety of reading formats.

While you are there, check out Hearteater, another anthology, including many of the same authors, inspired by the trigger, "Don't let someone take & eat your heart".  All proceeds from Hearteater will go to the charity WaterAid.

November 3, 2010

Sometimes . . .

  . . . when browsing the internet,

or tumbr I see beautiful pictures

that make me think of you . . .

  . . . like this one,  because in the

shapes, I find my imagination.

October 29, 2010

e[lust] edition # 21

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #22? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

Have a look at all the great submissions - go here, read more

October 18, 2010

Passive vs. Active Submission

There has been a interesting dialog going on for the past couple months, not a raging torrent but a subtle undercurrent around the matter of passive vs. active submission. Several women have spoken out about their interest and desire to be active in their submission. The classic notion of a submissive is one of passivity, a calm, a measured response, that conforms to some image that includes demure, and slight and slow.  Submission that is a restrained response, because the girl is often restrained, and it sets a tone or pattern, and she often feels that is what is expected of her. That she is expected to be quiet and calm and still and respond, and certainly is not expected to initiate.

It is a bit of a dilemma really, because she does what she thinks he wants, and so it seems it might put the onus on the dominant to guide on this.  I have looked around and not found much in the way of Dom-speak on this subject.  Most of what you see are submissive reactions or their own take on their feelings or behavior.  So, just what is the proper amount of energy/enthusiasm to put into active submission?  I think submissives often feel that they walk that fine line between expressing themselves, and drawing his wrath for being un-submissive and attempting to grab control, and I suspect it tends to make a girl very passive.

So, what do we dominants expect?  Firstly, in this matter, the dominant can be his own worst enemy. I think the nature of submission is passivity, but I appreciate a girl who leans into her submissiveness and uses it, plays with it and even initiates.  By leaning I mean expressing a more active inclination rather than a standing still waiting.  Maybe step up the assertiveness 20 or 30% but not too much, not 60 or 70%, (strange to put a number on it) but perhaps it gives a sense.  One way to be more active is to be "playful" or to "ask questions", something that gives her an "in" into the situation, perhaps to tease and taunt, play the part of a subtle seductress.

I said that this was a current topic of discussion, but I think my first thoughts in this area stemmed from a posting by meg, of Persephone in Love, well over two years ago, when her former owner suggested to her, "your kissing is too passive."
"Let me show you what it feels like." he brought his lips up to hers and held them almost completely still. She said it felt uncomfortable and disconnecting. He agreed, "that's going to stop. every kiss you give is going to be passionate and active. you're going to pursue the kissing; you're going to use your whole mouth and your tongue." She wrinkled my nose. "but that's not very submissive."

So many submissives think that they should just lay back and willingly let things happen. They do not actively reflect back the love and affection, returning it with all the passion they feel for their owner/master/lover/top. That brief discussion on passivity/passion around a kiss is a perfect example. Give every bit of yourself and throw all of your passion into every act of submission.

And in a recent post by Jz, the Tiger Girl she said:
. . . (it) is facetious and exaggerated - but you really do read a lot of advice out there about service and most of it is couched in terms that strike me as very zen and passive. Admirable, soothing qualities and I do NOT belittle them. But Tiger Girl is all about action! Submission is simply not passive to me. Instead, I see it as an active process, one that I am continually reviewing, redirecting, and refining. So, as you can probably guess, I am constantly being tripped up by the word "service".

I don't disagree with the concept, mind you, but to reconcile the discrepancies within my head, I have to frame it differently. I can't picture myself as the graceful lily, sitting with head bowed, waiting for directions. Rather, I am the tiger, crouching in the veldt, poised to spring into action when needed. 

On another blog, BDSM: A Kinster's Guide, she goes so far as to say, she does not want to be submissive, she wants to be conquered:
"I don't want to be told not to sit on the toilet seat or denied an orgasm. I want to be conquered. I want to be dominated. I want to be subdued.

To describe me as "submissive" rings false to me because I, while I greatly respect the women who do, do not get my main sense of identity from being dormant or servile. I don't want the identity of a submissive; I want to be with a man who holds the title of Dominant. He can be a dominant, a master, a warrior, a king. I want to get my identity, not from the quality of my actions, but from him. Who is he. That is where I want to derive my identity, and with it all the adjectives I use to describe myself.

Perhaps this goes beyond the active submission I have been talking about, in to something that might even be called aggressive submission.

Finally, another example of something "bordering" on aggressive submission is the writing presented by Kate, of the Games the Shrew plays... (she has recently moved her journals to FetLife.)
She has two documented experiences so far, The Rape Experiment, and Consensual Kidnapping; she is pursuing some very aggressive or assertive examples of submitting, delving deeply into the domain of consensual non-consent. Perhaps you might view them as bottoming rather than submission; however, they are examples of a most willful way of submitting herself to another, and they are very active examples indeed.

These are instances of submissive women seeking an alternative to the old classic D/s style where the submissive passively waits for guidance and direction from her lord and master. Or it maybe a changing of the paradigm of dominance and submission, reevaluating the older style and expectations. I am a bit on the conservative side, and find tradition and decorum very pleasing in many ways, but I find in this matter, I am fully in support of this more active form of submission.

In the comments section Vesta said she would write more on this topic and indeed she did, have a look at Active versus Passive Submission A thoughtful perspective from the submissive point-of-view.

And more:
And greengirl said, for me, i think it's all active
And cassie said, Too far gone?
And then Pygar said, passive vs active submission

Please, jump in and join the conversation, active? passive? aggressive? what say you?

October 3, 2010

"Far Far" - There's This Little Girl Inside

If for some reason it does not play correctly - it can be played at YouTube

Far far, there's this little girl
she was praying for something to happen to her
everyday she writes words and more words
just to spit out the thoughts that keep floating inside
and she's strong when the dreams come cos' they
take her, cover her, they are all over
the reality looks far now, but don't go

How can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
oh oh oh oh

Far far, there's this little girl
she was praying for something good to happen to her
from time to time there are colors and shapes
dazzling her eyes, tickling her hands
they invent her a new world with
oil skies and aquarelle rivers
but don't you run away already
please don't go oh oh

How can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
Take a deep breath and dive
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
There's a beautiful mess
beautiful mess inside

Oh beautiful, beautiful

Far far there's this little girl
she was praying for something big to happen to her
every night she hears beautiful strange music
it's everywhere there's nowhere to hide
but if it fades she begs
"oh lord don't take it from me, don't take it" she says

I guess I'll have to give it birth
to give it birth
I guess, I guess I have to give it birth
I guess I have to, have to give it birth
there's a beautiful mess inside and it's everywhere

so shake it yourself now deep inside
deeper than you ever dared
deeper than you ever dared
there's a beautiful mess inside
beautiful mess inside

"Far Far" by Yael Naim

September 23, 2010

Timeless in a Window's Light

He'd been sitting in his chair reading a magazine as he watched her walk into the room, peel off her swimsuit, and shake out her hair. He expected that she would put on the little silken robe; instead, she walked over to the window. She stood there, naked and smooth and bare, silhouetted by the sunlight shining softly through the louvered windows, muted by the loosely gathered sheers.

She was breathing slowly and quietly; such a calm and simple moment, almost like she was captured in time. Watching her just standing there, he felt a growing desire. He got up from his chair and walked up behind her. He was over a foot taller than her and carried nearly double her weight. She was so small, and muscular and shapely, so petite, it made him hold his breath when he thought about touching and holding her.

He placed his hands on the outside edges of the small of her back, right at her waist. His hands were so large that his fingers fell into the curves of her waist and the heels of his hands rested on the muscles of the small of her back.

She murmured softly but did not respond in any other way, almost as if it had been a breeze caressing her skin, rather than his hands.  He slid his hands up her back, up over her shoulder blades, to her shoulders, and combed his fingers up into her hair. He pulled it back off of her shoulders and behind her ears, gathering it at the back of her neck. He continued to comb it and smooth it into a tighter and closer ponytail, until it was taut across her head and completely gathered at the back of her neck.

He held her hair with his left hand and used his right hand to guide himself against the middle of her back, his shaft laying in the shallow depression of her spine, at the center of the small of her back, her skin so soft and cool and damp, against his hot flesh. He smiled as he felt her shift her weight back slightly, accepting him against her body and moving just slightly, settling him into just the right spot. As she pressed against him, he was twisting the bunch of her hair that was gathered in his hand, entwining it tighter against the back of her neck, and pulling her head back under his chin.

His other hand slipped between her arm and her side and curved across her stomach, and down across to her opposite hip. With this grip on her he pulled her tightly against him even more, as he rotated his hips up and back, working his stiff sensitive vein against her backbone just under her skin. The hard vertebrae of her spine worked against him, and the movement and knobby surface made him harder and harder. His hand pulling back across her stomach and the other pulling her head back further created the perfect trough in the middle of her back for him to move up and down against her warming skin. Now she was joining in and rocking her hips back and forth, raising her bottom up and pushing up against him, and creating an even snugger concave depression for him to move against.

His breathing became heavier and heavier as he worked harder against her back and he leaned his head down next to her ear, to get closer to her and to look over the front of her body, watching her breasts heaving and swaying. He loved how hard her nipples had gotten and the sight of them added to his building arousal. She continued to buck along with him and he could feel his orgasm building, he was certain she could sense his greater stiffness and likely felt his contractions. Just as he was about ready, he moved his hand from her stomach down and cupped her mound, tangled in her pubic hair and curling two fingers inside her. He squeezed her tightly, hooking his fingers deeper, pulling back and lifting her up against him tighter as he released onto her back, holding her against him as he throbbed and jerked.

As he breathed heavily he removed his fingers and leaned back so he could use them to clean her back. He pulled her head back further and to the side, wiped his wet and sticky fingers across her lips, and into her mouth. He took his fingers out, slid them down the front of her torso and plunged them back into her. He turned her head completely to him and shoved his tongue into her mouth, as he rubbed and pinched her mound, her hood and her lips. He felt her body start to shake, and he knew.

September 11, 2010

August 30, 2010

Close Enough

In the main, a man is happy to have a beautiful, and talented, and lovely woman for a partner, one who compliments him, accentuates him, makes him happy. He wants to be comfortable in the relationship and so does not make any real demands, does not want anything, he thinks she is just fine as she is. And she may be, but maybe she wants to be more, wants to grow and expand, and certainly he is happy to support her in her growth, if that is what she wants, gladly.

But on the whole, men accept their partners nearly as they are, and feel happy/lucky to have them and grateful that their personalities overlap so well and accept that, as is, for the most part. He doesn't want anything more from her, for her, of her. He certainly doesn't want her to think that he thinks she needs to change. He thinks she is just fine as she is. Having found that partner, someone who is enough, just as they are, he has no real thought or intent that he might improve her or help her improve, although he certainly would likely be supportive.

And then there are some men, men who have what? Some kind of arrogance? Certain kinds of men who want to help and mold their partner. Delve into her wishes, and wants, and desires, dig down and find out what she needs, and find ways to bring those urges and impulses to the surface. To nurture them, to work with her, work on her, actively help her strive toward that ideal, to work on making her the perfect something special. To blend in his own desires, and intentions, and direction; his vision of her as well. He wants to challenge, and coach, and question, and push, all these things to help her grow, and become even more. And he knows she might resist from time to time, but will come to rely on that push and guidance, that encourages her.

I read this recently:
. . . what is wonderful about being a submissive is that the right dominant man can teach you so much about yourself. As a submissive, your place is not just to serve, but to grow; to flourish in his attentive and intelligent care.

Yin yang are complementary opposites within a greater whole. Everything has both yin and yang aspects, although yin or yang elements may manifest more strongly in different objects or at different times. Yin yang constantly interacts, never existing in absolute stasis.

August 19, 2010

More (and then)

Welcoming him at the door each night, postured,
prepared, taking his coat, umbrella and attache;
(and then) his hand on her cheek, increases her calm.

Hosting a party, greeting guests with a smile,
shaking their hands, nodding in acknowledge;
(and then) no words, a weekend of silence.

Sitting quietly together, enjoying an evening movie,
the beverage fills her, her body needs relief;
(and then) she must ask permission, may I? please?

Dressed in business wear, she is a true professional,
Blazer/skirt, ruffled blouse, heels/stockings, jewelry;
(and then) a yarn bracelet, reminds, a special task.

A carefree day of shopping, sunny, fine weather,
selecting blouses, and skirts, and pants, and shoes;
(and then) phone pictures sent, seeking endorsement.

Arrives home, undresses, stretches, and takes her shower,
towels partially dry, cool damp skin, chilled by fans;
(and then) a daily ritual, she follows, proudly, against her will.
"It's so easy to submit my will to yours, when all I want, is to give you everything."

August 6, 2010

(and more)

She pulls into the driveway, parks her car,
Rings the bell, waiting for him to answer the door;
(and more), he opens the door, eyes locked on hers, and says, "Now".

She comes in the door, removes her shoes,
places her purse and keys on the table;
(and more), kneels down, head forward, for the collar.

Standing on a balcony, leaning on the rail,
pressed close, intimately, gazing at each other;
(and more), he grabs her throat, squeezes.

Sitting in a lounge, side by side, on stools,
leaning shoulder to shoulder, talking idly about nothing;
(and more), his hand goes between her thighs, taking.

Dinner is prepared, taken to the table, places set,
he says "thank you", she smiles back, "you're welcome";
(and more), silently, not speaking, until released to do so.

Out to dinner with her man, dressed to the nines,
she walks back from the ladies room, on display;
(and more), handing him her folded panties.

After dinner, as they leave, the valet brings the car,
he guides her into place, touches her head affectionately;
(and more), locking his fingers in her hair, gripping tightly.

Girl on her back on the couch, spread open,
him leaning over her, pounding her vigorously;
(and more), shoving his fingers into her mouth, filling her.

Ready for bed, standing naked, she waits,
he is absorbed, prolonging the wait, she relaxes;
(and more), as she never would have before.

and more, and more; (and then) even more, than ever before.

July 30, 2010

Impossibly Close

I want to wrap your body in mine. With one arm around your shoulders and the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, and the other pulling you into me, pressed into the small of your back. Your arms wrapped over mine, curled up and holding to the back of my shoulders and base of my neck, down to the middle of my back.

With the side of your face against my collarbone and your forehead tucked under my jaw, and my cheek against your temple. And my nose buried into the warmth of your hair. Your breasts completely flatten against my chest, and your hard nipples poking into me.

One thigh firmly between yours, your outside leg warped around mine, and my other pressed side by side against the outside of your other thigh and my foot tucked onto the back of your knee. With your pelvis pressed right up against my hip bone, and the warmth and furriness of your crotch, pressed down on my upper thigh, and me pressed against your stomach and side, just below your rib cage.

I want to completely warp you up in my arms and legs, with yours responding in kind so that we nearly become completely molded against and around each other, sharing our warmth, and breathing in unison. And then pull our heads back just slightly and kiss, hard, and deep, and long, and slowly.

Sometimes I want you that totally and completely, impossibly close and still then closer.

July 15, 2010

Pinned Down, and positioned

An excerpt . . . from . . . Just Thinking About You, Well, Perhaps not Just . . .
I came into the room and found her lying on her right side, napping, with her back close to the edge of her side of the bed; her knees bent and legs curled up slightly, naked. Her arms were prayer positioned in front of her, wrists together, crossed in fact, with her hands tucked up under her cheek slightly. The depth of her sleep was evident from the sound of her breathing, mixed with the slightest little snoring sound; she seemed completely at rest and at ease.

I stepped up to the edge of the bed, watching her ribcage rise and fall, relishing the curves of her body, the shape of her hips, the way her breasts settled down toward the mattress, and the way her hair fell, almost completely obscuring her face. I placed my right knee onto the bed so that my inner thigh was pressed against the middle of her back, my ankle pressed close against the cheeks of her buttocks, spreading them a little bit apart. She stirred just slightly as my weight shifted her gently, back toward my leg and more firmly against my thigh.

To counter balance the weight shift I swung my left leg over and settled it down against her upper stomach, just below her breasts. As I settled into place she stirred even more, turning her head toward me to see what was going on, why she was suddenly "surrounded". As she looked at me I sat back with some of my weight onto her waist, nearly like settling into the saddle astride a horse, the outward curve of her hip acting much like the upward curve of the back of a saddle. She tried to turn toward me, to roll over onto her back, but she was pinned in place by my thighs and my weight sitting on her hip.

Unable to roll off of her side and face me, she attempted to move her arms, to place her left arm around my waist but I put my hand firmly on her bicep and pushed her arms back down into place, pinning them against the firmness of the mattress. She recognized the intent of my gesture and settled back down, back to that comfortable position on her side. As she settled back down, accepting my presence, I bent forward slightly at the waist, leaning my torso along the side of hers and rested my hand on the mattress loosely gripping a tangle of her hair at the back of her head, pinning her head down, and whispered in her ear . . .

July 7, 2010

A Submissive Test?

I think most of us enjoy these various internet tests that give us a chance to evaluate or validate or gain some kind of insight into our personalities. I have featured a couple on this blog:

Myer-Briggs Personality Sorter

Inclination to BDSM

What Kind of Weather Am I

I recently came across "The Submissive Test", which appears to have been made up by someone over on OKCupid. Thank turiya over at Spirited Meanderings for bringing this to light, have some fun with it. I don't know how scientific or accurate or fair it is, but these kinds of things are always fun to take and show to our friends and say things like, "See, I told you." or "Wow, that really surprises me." So, to give credit where due, if you want to take the test, and why wouldn't you? Here is the link, go take the test, you know you want to:

I took the test, on the premise that even as a dominant, if I answer the questions honestly and indicate my likes and dislikes, perhaps it will provide some kind of insight into what it is about submissives that excite me. I found some of the questions difficult to answer for a couple reasons, one perhaps being that I am not a submissive and so the mindset for the answer is not clear within me, but also I found some of the questions did not offer a good clear choice, and so I selected the closest answer, or the least un-favorite answer. I guess this is likely true for many of these kinds of multiple choice quizzes.

At any rate, it was kind of fun, I don't put a lot of stock in the answers, but I agree that it offers a fair insight.

Oh, yea, yes, of course, sure I did, she is most likely:

a Submitter

You scored: 30% Humiliation, 67% Submissiveness, 39% Service, and 42% Pain

Yea, pretty much, I'd say, sounds pretty right?

July 4, 2010

Take You For a Ride in My Car-Car

Driving home from work on Friday, I was reminded of how much I love to drive a car, I always have. (I even participated in amateur auto racing several years back.) As I drove along, I noticed how comfortable I was, settled in my seat, feet on the pedals, holding the steering wheel, strapped in place by the belts, operating the controls, enjoying the whole process. Fully engaged in observing the activities around me, maneuvering in traffic, adjusting, compensating, making allowances for the vagaries of others, ready to adapt to situations that might arise.

And then I got to thinking about being in a car, going somewhere, and realized, I am always the driver, never the passenger. I have made various excuses for it over the years, even to the point of offering to drive when it was not completely practical, or there may have been advantage to letting another drive. One of the associated pleasures or related tasks is always to be sure there is a well preplanned trip, virtually always knowing where I am going, how best to get there and alternatives along the way should unforeseen events disrupt the adventure.

Another aspect of this is perhaps some old fashioned chauvinism from my upbringing. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have been a passenger in a car when a woman was driving, or anyone for that matter. It has nothing to do with an attitude about women drivers because, again when racing several years ago, some of my fiercest and most effective competition were female drivers. I think it is simply part of my make up, perhaps along with other old fashioned notions. She once wrote a story that started out thus:

"My first clue that something was amiss was him handing me the car keys and coming around to open the door for me. He never lets me drive, 'Driving is a man's responsibility, ladies should ride and relax', I had heard many times before. After I was seated in the car . . . he offered me the buckle for my seat belt, which I pulled across and clicked into place."

When I am taking a girl somewhere, I always open the passengers door, making sure she is settled, comfortable, and fully ready before closing the door, and going around and getting into the drivers seat. Once settled into the car, I again check to be sure she is buckled in, comfortable, the seat is adjusted to her comfort and convenience, that all is well and we are both ready to get underway.

One additional thing I have noticed, and have had pointed out to me, particularly when I am driving with enthusiasm and vigor, since I have a hold of the steering wheel and obviously am aware of where and when I will be accelerating, braking, turning and making other tactical moves, I am in greater control of my experience in the car. It has been pointed out to me that the passenger, who has simply the seat under them and the seat belt around them, has less connection with the vehicle. They are not privy to the movements or actions I might be taking at any time. In other words, the passenger is usually slightly off balance, and more affected by my whim.

Additionally, there is most always an agenda when traveling in a car, going somewhere, an intention, a plan, something to be done, and again, the passenger is not usually aware of the full scope of what is planned or intended.

It occurs to me as I have thought this through, and written it out, it is clearly not just about driving a car, is it?

July 1, 2010

Thoughts about Rules

The core of her comment, "as for resenting the rules, i have no idea. i've never done this sort of thing before. however, just because the rules are made doesn't mean that they can't be changed! if i were to start feeling resentful of rules, obviously we would sit down and discuss and make changes. i wouldn't resent luke, because this is all a collaborative process... we chose together to have rules because we thought it would be sexy, so if it stops being sexy then there is no reason to continue having rules."

As a dominant I love reactions to rules, admittedly they are not always positive but when they are, it is the icing on the cake of the Dom/sub relationship. How much fun it is to get these kinds of reactions:
  • . . . a shower when I get home from work, against my resistance to water and time spent, but following his instructions anyway turning me on . . .
  • I enjoyed the reading more and more because I was doing what he had told me to do . . .
  • The instruction was simple, and it came with the beginning of a story, to add to my distraction.
  • I start thinking about rules. I like rules. What could be a list of rules?
  • . . . doing sexual things I don't want to because someone's enjoying making me.
Of course there are going to be serious rules too, made for the welfare or well being of one or the other, or both people. But on balance, make rules that titillate, challenge, arouse, frustrate, tease, entertain, stimulate, and so on.

Again, if you start resenting rules, sit down and change them, don't let that resentment creep into the relationship, and poison the fun. Relationships are supported to be fun, no? Yes!

"If you're not in it for fun, I'm outta here!"

June 25, 2010

The Key to Making a Successful Blog

I started this blog with the stated purpose of collecting a bunch of links that had been lost with the disappearance of another blog. I wasn't sure what I was going to write about, but I had some experiences and opinions that I thought might be worth sharing. I quickly began building a relationship with some of my readers. But part of that relationship was making posts good so that people would want to read them, and would come back. Then I took a shot at writing a story, an enhanced description of a first meeting, knowing it would be less but wanting to convey the desire, and energy, and anticipation, the affection. And, so, now, 2-1/2 years later, I am curious, what brings you here, and brings you back? So, for fun, please take a couple minutes and complete the poll over there in the right margin. Leave a comment if you would, just ticking a box or two is too easy, speak up! But, most of all, thank you so much for coming back, again and again, for whatever reasons you do.
cartoon from
Poll results = blog list - 10%; wisdom - 35%; stories - 40%, recordings - 5%; cmnf pictures - 10%

June 7, 2010

On the Bed, then Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker
"Take away my sight please, then I can focus on feeling you . . ."
third -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. Everything seemed exactly the same. Except, on the nightstand, tossed against the base of the lamp, was the scarf which had been twisted around her wrists when he was there last week. He picked them up, there were two silk scarves, tied together at opposite corners to form a large enough loop to twist around 3 or 4 times to provide some bulk and substance. He untied the corners from each other and laid one on top of the other forming a double thickness. He folded them in half diagonally, and then folded in thirds, a nice wide blindfold.

Folded in half, he put it on the corner of the bed next to her pillow, and walked over to the window. He twisted the blinds shut and pulled the curtains across, throwing the room into even deeper darkness. The light from the clock projecting onto the ceiling was now the only illumination. He walked around to the foot of the bed and stood and watched her sleeping. He noticed the water glass and prescription bottle were not on the nightstand. He walked into the bathroom, looked around, looked in the cabinet, and the drawers of the vanity, but the bottle was no where to be seen.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed the blindfold over her eyes and held it firmly in place across her face while she struggled with awakening and realization. He leaned forward, put his head down on the pillow and whispered, "It's me, relax." He held her stationary until the reality of recognition settled over her and she calmed herself. Once she recognized what was happening, a smile crossed her lips; and she lifted her head so he could tie the blindfold at the back. As he tied the knot, he noticed the ribbon was no longer pinned to the headboard. "Where is the ribbon bow?" she smiled, but did not answer. "Answer," he muttered, and in response she lifted her head up further and turned her face away from him. He could see the ribbon tied in her hair down by her neck, tied around gathered strands of hair. He took her face in his hand, turned it back toward him and softly chuckled, and kissed her eyes through the blindfold.

"And where is the hobble rope?" he asked. She kicked and flailed at the sheet which was over her legs until they were uncovered, and he could see the rope around her ankles. He burst out laughing, deeply, she was laughing too. When he stopped laughing, he said, "How long have you been wearing these things to bed?"

"This is the fifth night", she said, and they laughed again, and then she looked seriously, "I was beginning to wonder if you might not be coming back."

"Silly girl, you must know me better than that."

He got up and moved to the foot of the bed, and tended to the knots of the hobble rope, cinched them tight so her feet were bound closely together and could not be moved independently. He dragged the back of his fingernails across the soles of her feet, over the tender skin of her instep, but it drew no response. Clearly her feet were not ticklish. He wrapped a hand around each foot; his fingers were over the arches and down the inside, his thumbs pressed into the underside of her arches and the balls of her feet, a massaging motion. He felt the muscles of her feet tensing, a feeling of her trying to pull them away, and moaning and complaining as he pressed harder and deeper.

The more he manipulated her feet, the more she tried to move them. While they were bound at the ankles; she kept moving them side to side, to evade his ministrations. He paused for a minute, and made a little loop on one of the tag ends and slipped it over her big toes, holding them together. She was no longer able to wiggle her feet away from his touch. He kept pressing his thumbs into the muscles of her feet, and she continued to try and pull them away, and continued her moaning and complaining.

He took hold of her ankles and pushed them up the bed, bending her legs at the knees, then with his hands, pressed her knees outward. As her legs fell open, still bound at the ankles, they formed a diamond shape, her crotch, her knees and her ankles. He placed his hands on the bed between her knees, and crawled up onto the foot of the bed, leaning over her legs, kneeling on all fours, with his arms against her knees, keeping them spread open. He moved his head down between her thighs, kissing and nibbling at the tender inner flesh of her right thigh, as his head moved further and further up her leg.

He turned his head downward, opened his mouth and took hold of a good bite of the inner lower back of her thigh, and slowly bit down on it, focusing his senses for any reaction. First he heard a gasp, the sound of a realization of what was happening, but no sign of fear, or dread, or pain, just a gasping and moaning sound, and a reactionary tensing of her thigh muscles. As he bit down harder, he felt her leg try to pull away, but his bite held firm. He was metering his bite so as not to leave a mark, at least not yet, and he as he bit down harder, he waited for further reactions. It came only in the form of her struggling to close her legs, which was blocked by his arms in the backs of her knees, holding them open exactly as they were. He bit down even more, and heard her cry out slightly but she did not make any further attempt to escape.

He let go of the bite and moved his mouth to the top of her thigh and took hold once again. Again she tensed and moaned, but did not offer any resistance or make any move to evade or escape his assault. He bit down even harder this time, realizing he was not biting into such tender flesh, and mostly had a grip of muscle. He held the bite for another minute, working his tongue over her skin, and then let go and moved a few inches further up her thigh. Again she moaned and gasped for air, which seemed to be her only reaction. He let go of the third bite and started to move his head across to her left leg. As his nose passed close to her panties, he got the aromatic confirmation of the effect his attentions were having on her.

He paused and nuzzled his chin down against the front of her bikini panties, she immediately thrust her hips up, pushing hard against his chin. He pushed back with equal force, as he moved his chin back and forth, side to side, up and down. He could feel the hardness of her mound against his chin and lower lip, and he opened his mouth and took in a mouthful of the material of her panties, and a substantial amount of her pubic hair as well. They held each other that way, him locked onto the material of her panties and hair, and her pushing up, grinding against his chin while he moved his jaw slowly, pressing back against her thrusting.

Startled, he felt her hands on either side of his head, fingers curled in his hair, gripping him and lifting him up, and away, and he let go of his mouthful of material. She has originally had her hand tucked under the pillow, under her head, and he had neglected to bind or restrain them in anyway. He let her guide his head up and toward her stomach, and he moved his arms from between her knees, up to either side of her waist, pushing down on the bed, and crawled up so his hips were now where his arms had been, still occupying the space between her flailed out knees, maintaining the open diamond posture.

Once he had himself balanced on his knees again, he taking hold of each of her wrists, pulling them down to her side, and pushed them down under the small of her back. He held them there with his own, and balanced on his elbows. He shifted his weight forward, and pressed up to kiss her. She felt his movement, sensed his target and turn her head to meet his lips, and they kissed, long and hard. The weight of his body lay completely on hers, pressing her down into the mattress, overwhelming and nearly completely covering her.

As they continued the kiss, his hands moved to lift her legs and bound ankles, so they were wrapped around his hips, also lifting her knees up toward her shoulders. He reached down and pulled the leg band of her bikinis to the side, his fingers spread her open, and he slid in. He pressed deep, and slowly filled her completely, deeper and deeper, pressing, moving just slightly, a slow rocking motion. They kissed more passionately, both clenching their muscles, feeling each other pulsing, pressed closer and closer together, filling, accepting. Her body stiffened, legs clenched, release, and he collapsed forward down on top of her, still kissing her mouth fully. His fingers were buried in her hair as she was shook, stiffened, and clenched; hips rising, pushing up. Then easing, and relaxed, but being still, fully engaged, connected, breathing in unison.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and he shifted and rolled them onto their sides, arms and legs moving and disengaging slightly. She rolled over to her other side, with her back to him and her head resting on his arm. She shifted and pushed hard back, spooned against him, and pulled his other arm over and around her, and tucked it between her breasts, and held it firmly in place, hugging it. She was still bound at the ankles, blindfold still in place. He buried his nose and mouth into her hair and neck. He nuzzled and kissed her softly, tenderly biting into her neck and shoulder, enough to apply pressure, more for presence/comfort than challenge, and she drifted off to sleep. Listening to her soft breathing and sleeping sounds, he drifted off too.

He awoke to the light of the sun rise shining visible around the edges of the curtains and blinds, feeling very relaxed, deeply sleepy. He slowly and gently disentangled himself, kissed the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades, ran his fingers down the length of her backbone, caressed her hip and bottom, and carefully moved himself out of bed.

He walked over to the chair, pulled on his clothes, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.

And then, much later, one Sunday afternoon . . .

May 21, 2010

On a Bed, Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker
second -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. Everything seemed exactly as it was previously, a place for everything and everything in its place. The night stands were the same, the bedspread, sheets, the furniture, everything looked the same. He looked at the clock projection again, and then his watch, and smiled, perfectly in sync.

He walked over to the left side of the bed and looked down at her. She was sleeping curled in a nearly fetal position, on her right side, facing him, knees pulled up, back curved, and hands down between her thighs. She was sleeping very close to the left side of the bed, not in the middle like before. He noticed with a smile that she had a scarf twisted loosely, but effectively around her wrists. It was an instruction he had issued several times and she had said she complied, but this was the first time he was actually seeing how she looked bound that way, and he found it stimulating in a strangely satisfying, "Mine", sort of way.

She was wearing a pair of bikini panties similar to last time, and again, her breasts were bare. Last time she had been laying flat down on her stomach, but this time, they were squeezed between her upper arms. Her ample breasts appeared even larger being contained in that way and her nipples were semi erect. Not hard and prominent as they were when she was aroused, but there was clear definition and swelling up from her aureoles. Her hair was tousled about her head, neck and shoulders, and it appeared to be longer. Obviously she was letting it grow longer; another "suggestion" he had made.

As he stood there, he looked around at the bed and night stand, the armoire and then at the headboard. In the dim moonlight, he noticed something at the center of the headboard, at the top edge. He leaned closer and saw that a stick pin was holding the ribbon and bow that he had fashioned in her hair the last time he visited. He reached down for the prescription bottle on the night stand and could feel it was full, and new, compared to the bottle that had been there last time. It suggested that she was using this sleeping aid on a regular, perhaps even on a nightly basis. He leaned in close, wiped her forehead and temple, hair smoothed out of your face, and looked at her eyes, looking for any sign that she might actually be partially awake.

Since she was sleeping so close to the edge of the bed, and facing in his direction, he gently settled himself on the edge of the bed, almost up against the front of her thighs, rather than down further where he might normally have seated himself, closer to her legs, her thighs and her bottom. As he sat there, lightly brushing her hair out of her face, suddenly he was startled and nearly jumped up. She abruptly stirred and shifted, she pulled her arms up and out, and placed her forearm on top of his thigh, her bound wrists hooked over his knee. She stretched out and put her head onto her arm, resting the side of her face and her temple directly against the side of his knee. Her position also pressed her breast and nipple hard against the side of his leg. This would not have bothered him much, but being spring time, with warmer weather, he had worn a pair of baggy surfer style shorts, and her warm soft flesh was pressed up against his bare leg. He was excited by the feel of her skin against his.
He sat there mesmerized by the feel of her breast pressing into his thigh, and the surges of warm air puffing through the hair on the back of his thigh as she breathed. As he sat there, he lightly touched her hair, decided that rather than try to move her, or slide himself out from under her embrace, he would just wait a while until she changed position again. The next time she rustled he would be able to slide his leg down off the edge of the bed as she was shifting around and extricate himself. He was in no hurry to go, and while this predicament was impeding his plans for the visit, he was very much enjoying his entrapment.

Again, like the last visit his attention was drawn to that spot near her bottom, that spot where her buttock turned to her thigh. He'd always had a fondness for that shape of her body, and the contour of her bottom. He reached over and placed the palm of his hand fully on the upper part of the back of her thigh, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin, and gently slipped the tips of a couple fingers up under the leg band of her panties. Just as he was about to move his hand further down in between and inside her thighs she started to stir again, he froze in place. She rolled toward the center of the bed, nearly on her back and drug her bound wrists across his thigh and back onto the mattress. As she moved, he pulled back his arm, and hand fell to the mattress. She pushed her hands up under her pillow, rolled back over and put her cheek on the pillow on top of her hands. She twisted her torso so she was once again nearly flat on her stomach. He sat still, waiting to see if she had settled, looking up and down the length of her lovely body, at her smooth skin and her well toned muscles. She seemed to be back sleeping soundly and settled again.

He walked over to his jacket, reached into the pocket and took out the length of soft cotton rope he had brought with him. He returned to the bed, walked down to the foot, where her ankles were lying side by side and lightly placed the center of the rope over her left ankle. He then took the tag end and passed it under her ankle, pulling up most of the slack and then made a figure eight cross over between her ankles. He wrapped the each end of the rope twice around her right ankle, made a second figure eight crisscross back to her left ankle, once around again and then between her ankles tied a double knot with the small bits of rope left. It was effectively fashioned in the style of a loose hobble. Clearly she had taken the sleeping pills again tonight, or all of the fussing with her feet and ankles would surely have woken her up. He stood back, admiring his handiwork and watched her breathing, listening to her slight snoring sound and looked up and smiled again at the ribbon on the headboard.

He walked over to the chair, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.

As he drove off, he said out loud to himself, "Third time is a charm."
. . . continued . . .