A View from the Top

Agnes's Birthday - Dinner

2012-01-29T11:20:00.000-08:00

Continued from here

The matire de looked down at his list and then back at Frederick and said, “Party of three?” Frederick said, “Yes, but only two of us are here now. We can be seated, we don’t need to wait.”

“Very good sir, right this way please.”

The matire de’s assistant smiled as they stepped forward to be led to their table. Frederick smiled back, reaching out and handing the girl the bouquet of rose buds, “Could you please put these in a vase and have them brought to the table? Thank you.” She smiled and nodded.

Frederick put his hand in the small of Agnes’s back and ushered her forward to follow the matire de’s lead. He led them through the front dining area toward a set of of doors that opened to the back room. Frederick noticed the attention that their passage was drawing, and knew that Agnes was the cause of the stirring. In her little black dress she was very alluring, catching the attention of both the men and the women as she passed by, enjoying the way her body moved. There was a natural flow to the dress, it clung at her hips and accented the shape of her bottom. The hem of the skirt flipped up to the back of each thigh alternately as she took each step and her hair swung in cadence with her arms.

Passing though the doors to the back dining area, they were in a room of surprisingly large size, filled with a half dozen extravagant overstuffed booths along one wall. On the right were heavy carved oak tables with various seating arrangements for parties of four or six. In between was what served as a dance floor and at the far end was a small step up stage cloaked by heavy curtains. Back to the far right was the sitting area with couches and tables, the area where Frederick had brought Agnes on their first evening out.

They were led to a table in the right side of the room; a table for four, but set for just three. The matire de held the menus in his hand and gestured with the other, indicating, ‘here is your table’. A server was standing at the far side of the table pouring glasses of water and next to him was the sommelier attending to a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of Riesling with it’s characteristically long thin neck.

Agnes moved to sit down but Frederick put a hand on her arm. She looked back at him and he shook his head and said softly, “Not just yet, hold on.” The server finished setting the table and walked off after exchanging nods with Frederick. The sommelier uncorked the bottle, poured a sampling into one of the wine glasses and offered it to Frederick. Frederick took the glass, swirled the liquid around, sniffed the bouquet and took a small taste. “Superb! Thank you very much.” Frederick sat the glass down, the sommelier poured a second glass, and finished filling Frederick’s glass, and placed the two glasses on the table. Frederick thanked him. He put the bottle back into the bucket and withdrew.

Just then the girl arrived with the bouquet of roses and placed them in the middle of the table. Frederick walked around behind Agnes and pulled out a chair for her, she sat down and he pushed it in. He walked around the table, moving the vase to the back edge of the table out of the middle and proceeded to seat himself, but before he sat down he picked up his wine glass, lifted it in a toast.

“Happy Birthday sweet girl. I hope you have an enjoyable evening and that it is a fitting celebration for you.”

Agnes picked up her glass, lifted it up toward Frederick, took a small drink and said, “Thank you very much Frederick. I am sure it will be, I am looking forward to the night.”

With that Frederick sat down himself and smiled across the table at Agnes. Looking around he could see that the booths were filling up and there was developing a strong background murmur of conversations across the room. He had noticed that they had captured the attention of several parties as they’d proceeded into the room and were escorted to their table.

“Why is there a third setting?”

“Someone will be joining us for dinner. He is a special friend of mine and I wanted him to help us celebrate your birthday.”

A waitress arrived with a basket containing a variety of breads, two shallow dishes and a rack holding olive oil and vinegar bottles. She poured a medium size pool of olive oil onto each dish then poured balsamic into the olive oil. Frederick noticed Agnes’s curious look and said, “Break off some bread and dip it into the mix.”

They sat and quietly drank wine and ate bread, with no conversation, listening to the background music. Just as the waiter stopped by to refresh their wine glasses another man approached Frederick and greeted him. “Good evening Frederick.”

Frederick stood and shook the man’s hand. “Good evening Patrick, I am so glad you were able to join us.”

Frederick pointed to the third wine glass, and the waiter poured a glass of wine for Patrick and ushered him to his seat.

Frederick introduced him to Agnes. “Patrick, this is Agnes, a very special friend of mine and our birthday girl. Agnes, this is Patrick, he is the owner of this restaurant.”

Agnes offered her hand and Patrick kissed it. “Happy Birthday Agnes, I am so pleased that you have chosen to celebrate your birthday here. I hope you have an enjoyable evening, one you will not forget.”

“It is an interesting and exciting place. I have been here once before with Frederick. In fact it was the first place he took me out to, and I confess it was an eye-opener.”

“What did you discover here Agnes?”

Well, sir, it was a place like I’ve never been to before. Before coming to Paris, I was just a country girl and had never ventured far from my home town, a small town to the south. Since moving here and meeting Frederick I have seen many things that I didn’t know existed and seen things I never knew people did.”

Patrick gave her a knowing smile but simply said, “I am glad you enjoy yourself here.”

At that Patrick turned to Frederick and began discussing menu selections. Noting that Frederick had selected a very nice Riesling, he suggested a couple of fish dishes that he thought they would enjoy. Frederick asked if they had any particularly nice pasta dishes that he would recommend and Patrick mentioned a spaghetti with squash blossoms and an eggplant dish but wondered if they was substantial or festive enough for the occasion.

Patrick turned to Agnes and said, “So, since you are the birthday girl, do you have anything in particular that you would like to have for dinner?”

Agnes smiled back at him, looked at Frederick for a moment, and then back at Patrick and said, sheepishly but with conviction, “That is something that is up to Frederick, he has told me that he will be making all the decisions about the celebration of my birthday. I am a little apprehensive but so far so good, and I do trust his judgment.”

Patrick looked back at Frederick and gave him a wry smile, and said, “So, it would seem that you are the man of the hour. Knowing you as I do, I’m not surprised by this. What strikes your fancy this evening Frederick?”

Frederick returned the smile and said, “Let me have one last glance through the menu and see what I might have missed. In the mean time I think another bottle of wine would tide us over until the food starts to arrive.”

At that Patrick gestured to the waitress. She was there immediately and took the wine order. Shortly the wine steward arrived and uncorked a second bottle which he placed in the ice bucket after topping off everyones glasses.

Frederick put down the menu and turned to Patrick, “There are so many wonderful choices I am having a hard time selecting just one or two. What would be perfect for us would be a platter of your chefs favorite offerings of pastas and vegetable dishes. Something we could all share and experience a nice variety.”

“An excellent idea Frederick. Excuse me for a minute while I go to the kitchen and make some arrangements.” Patrick got up from the table and headed back toward the kitchen.

After he was gone Agnes agreed, what a wonderful idea that was because she herself had been having trouble selecting just one dish from several she was curious about. Frederick agreed and allowed as how Patrick surely had a very good idea what would be best although he’d not wanted to impose his ideas on them without allowing them their own choices.

The table fell into quiet as they all listened to the music of the quartet on stage, munched on bread and cheese, and just relaxed. Suddenly Frederick turned back to Agnes and said, “Please, sit up straight in your chair.”

In response Agnes adjusted and stiffened her posture in her seat, with a quizzical look on her face. She was clearly taken by surprise at Frederick’s command. She sat up straight, placed her napkin on the table and put her arms on the arms of the chair, feet flat on the floor. There was a small smile on her face that seemed to speak of self pride at complying perfectly with the instruction while waiting for his purpose to reveal itself.

Just then Patrick returned, beaming, and took his seat. He told them that he had taken the liberty of suggesting a couple dishes that would take a bit longer but would be well worth the wait. Frederick and Agnes both nodded their acceptance of his decisions and offered Patrick a small toast of thanks.

“Did I miss anything?” asked Patrick, noticing the overly formal way in which Agnes was sitting in her chair.

Agnes said, “Oh, no. We’ve just been listening to the lovely music and enjoying the bread and wine.”

Frederick added, “That is right, but I am glad you are back. I was just starting something with Agnes.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

And simultaneously, Agnes said, “Oh.”

Frederick gave Patrick a conspiratorial smile and turned his attention back to Agnes.

“Are your feet flat on the floor? Put your hands on the table, fingers interlaced.”

Frederick glanced down under the table and saw her toes, even with each other, a few inches apart.

“Cross one leg over the other, nice and snug.”

Agnes shifted slightly in her seat, looking at Patrick, and then staring at Frederick, but did not move.

“Cross your legs Agnes.”

“But Frederick,” glancing again at Patrick and at the room around them.

In a deeper, more stern voice Frederick said simply, “Agnes,” and glared at her.

For a couple of long quiet minutes, neither moved or spoke. Then, reluctantly, she shifted around, and complied.

“Good girl. Now, start rocking your upper foot.”

She sat perfectly still except for the slight torquing of her torso as she rocked her upper leg, flexing at the knee. Her pace was steady, just as Frederick had taught her. She stared down at the place setting in front of her, concentrating.

Frederick snapped his fingers and Agnes looked up, “Look at me Agnes.”

Frederick could see the rocking leg was beginning to have it’s effect on her, looking at her face; he could see her eyes were beginning to glaze over.

She continued on as he instructed. Agnes would let her gaze drift away but each time she did Frederick rapped a knuckle on the table top and she looked back up at him.

Soon her breathing was becoming more and more ragged and her whole body was tensing.

Noticing her reactions, Frederick said, “Okay Agnes, slow down now.”

“Please, no, Frederick.”

“Agnes, slow down, come back from the edge.”

She slowed the pace of her rocking leg and took several deep breaths.

“Okay Agnes. I want you to stop for now, we can finish this later.”

Frederick had a slight smile on his face, but Agnes was clearly frustrated and disappointed.

Just then, three servers arrived with two large oval serving trays containing several steaming platters and placed them on collapsible serving stands on the unoccupied side of the table. They were each given a main plate and two side plates off to the right side. One of the waiters refreshed the oil and vinegar on their bread plates, while another picked up old napkins and provided fresh linen.

Patrick turned and smiled at the servers and then to the waiter and said, “Serve the lady a goodly portion from that platter,” pointing to the largest on the serving tray, “and then surprise us all with your best suggestions for our first course.”

He then placed his hand on both Frederick’s and Agnes’s wrists and shook them slightly, “Bon appetite! My friends.”

Mirror Mirror - Flash Fiction Friday

2012-01-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

(Artist, Helmut Newton, title unknown)

She got up out of the bed, putting the magazines down, driven, aroused and crazed. She pressed herself against the mirror, moving her hips rolling them up and down, rotating her pelvis.

She had always wanted to be inside herself, wondering what it would be like to feel herself. Not receiving but giving, or more accurately, giving and receiving simultaneously. Of course she had felt others, felt her fingers inside them, but it was just someone else.

She wanted her innie to be converted to an outie, something she could put inside herself and feel what it felt like to be inside herself. She was wanting to feel her nipples against her own nipples, feeling her breasts pressed against themselves, feel the arousal of the arousal.

She wanted to be the giver and the taker, feeling the pleasure of giving pleasure herself to herself as she felt receiving it.

She pressed harder and harder; breast to breast, nipple to nipple, mound to mound, the mirror was cracked and failing to give her the push back she needed.

She pounded her hands on the wall, crazed, “Let me inside!”

Click here for FFF Details

This challenge is to use the picture above to write a flash fiction of 85-188 words, using the phrase: "...cracked and failing..."

Building Heat

2011-12-29T11:45:00.000-08:00

“Sit up, nice and straight, back against the booth.”

She smiled, shifting.

“Put your feet flat on the floor, fingers interlaced, on the table.”

I glanced down and saw her toes, even with each other, about 12 inches apart.

“Sit very still.”

After a few minutes I said, “Reposition yourself and cross one leg over the other, nice and snug.”

She shifted around, complying.

“Now, start rocking your upper foot.”

I could feel the tip of her toe brushing against my trousers as it moved to and fro. I looked at her face; her eyes were beginning to glaze over.

Friends

2011-12-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

Where

gold

ends

and

golden

begins

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T10:09:00.000-08:00

Krampus

The Fire

2011-12-22T09:35:00.000-08:00

"The game is called Submission, perhaps you are familiar with it?"

She shook her head, "No."

"I will take this list and make a plan, to guide you through the accomplishment of these goals. Your side of this bargain is to follow my suggestions; sometimes they will be obvious and easy, other times you will not want to do as I instruct, and you will rebel.

"You’ll tell me your objection and we'll discuss it, then you’ll do as I instruct."

"And if I still don't want to do what you tell me to?"

"Then the game can be over."

Frying Pan to Fire

2011-12-15T09:30:00.001-08:00

We sat staring at each other. Finally I reached down, spun the list around and read it.

“So, you wrote this list, sent it to me, came here, all of your own volition? I guess this means something to you?”

She nodded her head.

“You are a very young girl to have such an extensive list; you must have had very liberal parenting?”

Again she nodded her head.

“Being allowed to do what ever you want lacked the discipline necessary to learn to make good, informed choices?”

She continued nodding her head.

“So, do you want to play a game?”

Work, Love, Dance

2011-12-12T15:22:00.001-08:00

So, stop waiting until you finish school,
until you go back to school,
until you lose ten pounds,
until you gain ten pounds,
until you have kids,
until your kids leave the house,
until you start work,
until you retire,
until you get married,
until you get divorced,
until Friday night,
until Sunday morning,
until you get a new car or home,
until your car or home is paid off,
until spring, until summer,
until fall, until winter,
until you are off welfare,
until the first or fifteenth,
until your song comes on,
until you've had a drink,
until you've sobered up,
until you die, until you are born again
to decide that there is no better time
than right now to be happy...
Happiness is a journey, not a destination.

So, Work like you don't need money.
Love like you've never been hurt and
Dance like no one's watching.

~Author Unknown~

excerpted from http://www.rogerknapp.com/inspire/Dancelike.htm

I Hope You Dance

2011-12-11T17:59:00.001-08:00

Lee Ann Womack

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making

Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

Dance
I hope you dance
(Dance)
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)

Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder
(Dance)
Where those years have gone
(Dance)

Dance

2011-12-10T07:28:00.001-08:00

Applying the Heat

2011-12-08T09:15:00.001-08:00

“Again?”

She looked down, avoiding my gaze, not looking at the pack of cigarettes.

Softly, looking down into her lap, “Yes, but I don’t want to stop smoking. Who are you to make me?”

I sat the pack aside, reached across the table and lifted her chin until our eyes met.

“Who am I? You think I’m trying to make you stop smoking? I’m asking you, ‘Why are you smoking?’ ”

She looked confused. I continued, shaking her chin slightly and tapping the list, “Who are you to make this little girl do these things she doesn’t want to do?”

Four Years - Fore!!

2011-12-06T00:01:00.000-08:00

Thanks Sweet girl

Beware: the coming of Krampus!

Four years, wow! Who'da thunk it?
When I started this blog it was with the intent of gathering and collecting a list of interesting blogs to follow, "For now this will be a repository for links rediscovered, and read and appreciated." I still have a fairly extensive collection at my Blog Roll a ways down in the side bar, but this space has come to mean so much more to me over these past four years. Some know me as a carguy and I have always been very fond of Datsun/Nissan, whose motto for many years was, "Life is a journey, enjoy the ride." Thank you all for coming along with me on this journey, I have enjoyed the ride and see that many others have also. When I last looked at my hit meter I was hovering just below 120,000 visits.

I was reading back through previous Blogaversary posts and was reminded of this comment:

Anonymous said...I have been meaning to write to thank you. I found your blog about 1 year ago. In you, I recognized a man I had known 25 years ago, and had run from because I didn't understand who I was. I found him recently and am now happily owned. I would not have had the courage to look without your writings.

I am so happy to present an image, that would evoke such a reaction. It humbles me.

I have really enjoyed participating in the Flash Fiction Friday series of writing challenges and making new friends there. Because of the generally limited word count available and a picture to evoke ideas, it is an excellent exercise in imagination and expression. I really do encourage everyone to look it over and give it a try. It is all in fun, there is no right or wrong way to do it. I often further challenge myself to pick a specific number of words and write to that count. That has led me to start a little writing project called 100 Words. Small enough to knock out in an hour or two, and long enough to depict a full scene or interaction, or explore a thought or frame of reference. We will see how that goes.

Of special note this year, I am very excited to have been selected by Rori for inclusion in her list of the Top 100 Sex Blogs of 2011. I started this blog to express D/s thoughts and ideas and quickly recognized that there were multiple, overlapping realms. Just over a year ago I made a conscious decision to focus on writing stories rather than essays/articles and express ideas and views through examples. I am honored to be included in Rori's list this year, thanks to those who nominated and selected me.

And what is ahead? I am not sure. Likely more of the same, some more Frederick and Agnes assuredly. More, shorter pieces in the 100 Words style. I have tried some different presentation styles this past year and the one before; things like I Like Your Dream, an audio, and an attempt at a visual impact with The Path. I will continue to look for others.

Again, thank you all for coming along, this blog has been my pleasure and will continue to be. So, let's lock arms and stride forward toward the future, whatever it may bring.

Please.Don't.Stop

2011-12-05T09:50:00.001-08:00

He caressed my shoulder while we watched a movie, (nice). His hand moved down to my breast, but I pushed it away. Soon his hand was at my neck, teasing, slipping down again onto my breast, “Stop it.”

I moved away; escaped across the room. He followed, pinned me against the wall, arm across my chest, hand up under my dress. I jerked his arm down, “No!”

He slapped me, (stunned), then grabbed my throat, clutching hard. His mouth sought mine; I deflected, trying to squirm away.

I pressed my elbow into his chest, speaking loudly, sternly, “I mean it!”

Heating Up, Again

2011-12-03T17:10:00.001-08:00

There she was, sitting in the specified booth looking very much self-absorbed. I walked in and stood at the end of the table until she looked up, and said, “Hello.”

I slid into the opposite seat and recognized the printed list. I also recognized that same tank top, affording me that same delicious view.

“I see you’ve brought the list.”

She smiled nervously, “Yes.”

Reflexively she reached into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. I caught her hand, and took the pack from her, holding it in the air, twisting and turning, slowly, in the space between us.

“Again?”

Tempering the Heat

2011-12-01T11:16:00.001-08:00

I checked my email Saturday night; there was nothing from the mystery girl. I wasn’t surprised or particularly concerned, I suspected she’d default on the timing of the assignment, either out of reticence or because of the complexity.

I busied myself with weekend chores, had dinner with friends and got to bed early Sunday night in anticipation of a long hard week ahead. I checked my mail again on Sunday morning, still nothing - mid-day nothing, even Sunday night, nothing. It tickled me, imagining her mental gymnastics.

I checked again Monday morning, there it was, “Possible Improvements”, with an apology.

Turning Up the Heat

2011-11-27T07:32:00.001-08:00

When I got to my car, I saw her sitting in hers, opening a pack of cigarettes. I pulled up beside her, driver-door to driver-door.

“Hello, I noticed you in the store a few minutes ago.”

She smiled, “Yes, I noticed you too, bold statement, ‘Not yet’.”

“Give me the pack of cigarettes.”

She offered them and I tossed them onto my dash.

“By 9 o’clock send me your list of other bad habits, and two things you want to improve,” and I gave her my business card.

She looked off-guard, confused, but nodded her agreement, and I pulled away.

The Heat of Summer

2011-11-26T06:36:00.001-08:00

I was looking for Gatorade and trail mix. Rounding the corner heading to the checkout station what I found was a lovely raven-haired girl. She was wearing skimpy volleyball shorts, barely covering her well rounded buttocks, and a deeply slit cotton tank top.

We got to the line at the same time. Nodding, I stepped aside. She smiled softly, and silently stepped forward. I placed my items on the conveyor belt and looked her over. My eyes were drawn to the complex compound curves of her cleavage.

The cashier glanced at her, then addressed me, “Are you together?”

“Not yet.”

Violence and Sex

2011-11-19T09:27:00.001-08:00

Littlegirlyone (LG) wrote a blog post recently on the subject of sexual violence and violent sex, about her feelings and reactions to watching the video of a Judge beating his daughter with a belt. She spoke both about the beating the girl received and her reaction to it, and with wonder, her visceral reaction to watching the video. Her self analysis and the subsequent comments indicate that her reaction was not uncommon. I think there was a fair amount of self doubt expressed, how could they have such an erotic reaction to such a horrific event?

This reminds me of a number of other situations, where there is a “good reaction” to a “bad event”, such as:

- Arousal when viewing the judge beating his daughter

- Arousal or bodily response when being forced or raped

- Being in a NO situation but finding yourself being aroused

- A behavior or desire that is learned from a negative experience

There are many other examples.

I think it can bring clarity to consider that there are two separate and distinct things going on at the same time. One of them a horrible violent thing that everyone agrees is despicable and wrong, and justly so. On the other hand, there is stimulation of erotic triggers.

Just as LG says, there is disgust at finding eroticism in these events, that can produce a sense of self loathing.

I think if we can learn to separate the two events, we can have the appropriate responses to each of the events. But when the two are viewed as related or that one causes the other, there is condemnation of self.

Irrespective of whether the judge beating his daughter with a belt is wrong or not, and in the example we are talking about it is clear that he has gone over the edge. It is far far beyond any kind of discipline. In spite of that, the thought of it or viewing of it triggers an erotic response from some/many people. The fact that these violent acts trigger an arousal mechanism does not mean that the viewer approves and condones what he is doing, or even that what is going on is the root cause of the reaction.

When a woman suddenly finds herself in the unrelenting pursuit of a man who has decided that he ought to, or is entitled to, have has way with her. It seems inappropriate for her to feel aroused by the attention or thoughts of what is/might/could happen. The fact is that it triggers a non-consensual fantasy in her mind, but that does not mean she wants the sexual or sensual assault to continue, or that the man is justified in his actions.

So many women who have been raped or assaulted carry around a tremendous feeling of guilt at their body's response. They think there is something wrong with them that even while they are being taken against their will and being forced to do things they would never consent to, they are experiencing some kind of sexual stimulation. In many cases even have intense sexual stimulation and intense orgasms.

A woman who, along with her husband, is confronted by a burglar in her home and is bound and gagged, along side her husband. After they are both secured and disabled, the burglar scours the house looking for valuables to steal. Eventually he returns and begins a sexual assault on the wife, cutting her clothes off of her and eventually taking her sexual, ultimately resulting in an orgasm. In addition, the woman develops an arousal affiliation between being bound and gagged, and the husband has developed a strong interest in his wife when he has bound her in ways that are similar to what the burglar did.

In all of these examples consider the fact that there are two distinct and separate things happening.

In the LG's example, it is very likely that the arousal would be the same if she were viewing a staged video, although it might not have been so visceral, because it was staged. But I am sure that the popularity and success of dungeon scenes as portrayed on Kink.com and other kinky porn sites speak to this point.

In the instance of a friend who was raped, the only way I could get her to eventually accept that it was not her fault, that she did not “want it”, was to work with her and drill into her the fact that her response was purely a physical reaction. It did not mean she was bad or that she wanted it to happen or that she permitted it. There were two things happening, she was being taken sexually against her will, and she was having a perfectly normal sexual stimulation.

Clearly, violence or the threat of violence will trigger a fight or flight response. With that response comes an adrenalin rush. I understand that there is a physiological component to women becoming stimulated during a sexual assault that has nothing to do with any psychological component. There is belief in the scientific community that physiological changes occur as a kind of self protection mechanism, lubricating the woman and keeping her from suffering bad physical damage as the result. It is not all in the head, it is automatic, and occurs in other mammals as well. This is part of the guilt fallacy that women often describe as “my body betrayed me.” In no way does the woman's physiological reaction transfer any responsibility for the rape to her.

I know it can be difficult to separate these events, particularly when they are happening in essentially the same time and space, but I think there is value in dissecting the violence of an event and separating it from any physical reaction that occurs. The stimulation that occurs is not caused by the violent event, it is caused by internal triggers that are set off, triggers which may look very similar to the violent event that is occurring but are really very separate and distinct.

Do or do not . . .

2011-11-17T21:50:00.000-08:00

. . . there is no try

I can't hear you

2011-11-11T10:30:00.001-08:00

She’d been all for this game when my hand was clamped onto the back of her neck. And also when I had harshly squeezed her breast, although she'd grimaced and squirmed. And when I’d teased her navel and combed through her pubic hair, she was fine, giggly even.

Now she was balking. She held my wrist, pulling down. But I continued to push up forcefully, fingers pressing in against her throbbing veins.

“Let go of my wrist.” Her body shuddered in response but her grip slackened.

I put my lips to her ear and whispered, “Are you ready to continue?”

with or without

2011-11-10T11:31:00.001-08:00

I was settled in my favorite Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was late afternoon and there was a breeze rustling through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the patio, against the house.

She was on a chaise-lounge, legs tucked up to one side, working on a needlepoint project. She was absent-mindedly humming an indistinguishable tune.

Suddenly I rapped my knuckles on the arm of the chair and she looked up.

Indicating a spot directly in front of my chair, I spoke softly, “Come here.”

She got up and came over.

I leaned back into the chair, “Lift your skirt.”

Batgurl - Flash Fiction Friday

2011-10-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

(Source image: "Battire" by Gernot)

Nickie arrived at the party and quickly moved through the crowd, accepting the obligatory greetings. There was no recognition, just kissed cheeks and hugs given anonymously with a sweet smile and soft giggle. A quickly grabbed drink and it was off to the tenebrous balcony.

On the balcony Nickie relaxed, fussing at the stockings, removing the cloak, adjusting the arm-wing stockings. After the costume adjusting and tucking Nickie looked inside and saw that Mark had arrived and was working through the crowd toward the balcony. Nickie leaned back against the pillar, stretched out, seductively lithe, sharply pointed toes, fingers outstretched.

Mark had seen Nick in stockings before but the recently acquired implants would make this dark spooky encounter freakishly erotic.

Click here for FFF Details

The Happy Halloween challenge is to use the picture above to write a spooky flash fiction of 80-120 words. I would also like you to please use this H.P. Lovecraft word in your submission: "...tenebrous..."

Red - Flash Fiction Friday

2011-10-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

(Source image: unknown title by
Beau Monde; website link broken)

Like so many times before, she sat intent on his voice, "Ten." All tangled up in herself, legs clenched, “Nine.” Breasts squeezed tightly, wrapped in the deepness of his voice, "Eight." Her stomach in a knot, cramping, “Seven.”
38
Growling, tossing the headphones aside, still hearing his commands, “Six.” His voice taunting her, hyper-attuned, each breath twisting her arousal tighter, “Five.” Fire burning, hot, damp, nipples throbbing, aching, “Four.”
68
Yanking the headphone jack out, still hearing, “Three.” Her fingers plugging her ears, shaking her head, ”Two.” Her legs twisted, burning thighs, suddenly in pained delight, ready, “One.” Then, “Now!!”
98

Your challenge is to use the picture to write a flash fiction of 38-98 words. I would also like you to please use this phrase in your submission: "...pained delight..."

Click here for FFF Details

Pranayam - Flash Fiction Friday

2011-10-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

(Source image: "Framed"
by Marcus J Ranum)

She slowly pushed her chair back from the desk where she had been quietly reading her email. As she clicked the program closed she muttered, “Crap.”

She got up from the desk, moved her yoga mat to the middle of the room and began undressing. She got down on the mat and assumed the kneeling position. She started doing her breathing exercises to clear her mind, humming softly, uttering a barely audible recitation of her mantra.

This was typically her pre-sex relaxation routine, to center herself and release tension. I was perplexed and confused, and asked, “What?”

Looking back over her shoulder, stretching, eyes down, she said solemnly, "I Lost The Game".

Click here for FFF Details

Your challenge is to use the supplied picture and write a flash fiction of 80-112 words. Rather than use a word prompt this week, I would like you to include the emotion of "calm" somewhere in your piece.

e[lust] edition #30

2011-10-10T17:18:00.000-07:00

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] #31? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
Crotch Topiary & Other Delights – I admit I started simple, I realised my teenage dream of having a Winona-inspired heart emblazoned on my mound. It was perfect. I used Contact paper to design my heart and just went to town pulling out every hair that was not covered.
In Defense of Exclusion – Sometimes it’s nice to be with people who are like you. It’s nice to be around people who get your kink, your fetish – to be somewhere that you don’t have to explain it to.
The Boy At Summer Camp – It started with an email with the subject line ‘butch at your service,’ and an offer for a blow job. And I thought, hm. Well, you know, I do like those. But I’m not usually attracted to boys.
~ e[lust] Editress ~
Ask Lilly: “My sex toy stinks – what should I do?” – Would you put it in your mouth with that smell? Would you gag from the smell and taste? If yes, then why the hell put it in your . . .
~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~
A Day At The Circus

Read more . . .

Wallpaper - Flash Fiction Friday

2011-10-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

(Source image by Vlad Gansovsky, title unknown)

“Good, you’re back, I've been thinking about paint colors. What did you get at the hardware store? ”

"Brushes, roller pads, drop cloths and stir sticks, stuff we'll need for painting."

And to himself, "and a stiff stick for a
hot young brunette I talked to there."

"I've been thinking the fireplace wall will look better with wallpaper. Something that will offset the light fixtures, the mantle and the mirror."

He looked in the mirror imagining the brunette

standing in front of him removing her sundress.

Pulling the straps down off her shoulder, it slides

off her hips, crumpling into a puddle at her feet.

“We took the wallpaper off that wall last year. Now we want to put wallpaper up again? What about this garish wallpaper behind us?"

“Yes, I think we need to take down this old wallpaper and paint the wall. We need something around the fireplace to wake up that wall.”

The only thing waking up for him was

a fantasy of that brunette straddling his
thighs, slipping herself down onto him.

”Maybe you're right.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

He settled back, imagining her hand at

his throat, leaned in against his chest,

enthusiastically rolling her hips.

"Oh, yes, it's good."

Click here for FFF Details

Your challenge is to use the picture above to write a flash fiction of 78-208 words.
I would also like you to please use this phrase in your submission: "...enthusiastically..."

Bullies

2011-09-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

I am a tall man, maybe what some would call a big man, and through a practiced demeanor, very immune to the likelihood of being bullied by others. However, growing up I was lanky, and awkward, lacking in social skills, even shy and reserved. Because of that I was subject to negative attention from others who found in me an opportunity to exert their power over someone else. I hesitate to call it bullying because I do not want to co-opt the sense of helplessness so many young people must feel when they are singled out by others and treated badly.

Over the past couple years I have followed this issue of bullying in the various media and come to recognize it for what it is. I have my notions about what it’s origins likely are and see that those origins are not an excuse, and are not permission, to treat others badly.

A friend recently posted the following remarks on her Facebook page and I wanted to give her thoughts an additional venue and add my voice to it.

That girl you just called fat? She's overdosing on diet pills.

The boy you just tripped? He is abused enough at home.

That girl you just called ugly? She spends hours putting makeup on hoping people will like her.

That man with the ugly scars? He fought for his country.

That guy you just made fun of for crying? His mother is dying.

As a dominant man (not that dominance has anything to do with it really), I am ashamed of the way so many people treat others but feel a sense of powerlessness to do anything about it, I really have no solution. I can be an example and I can step in if I witness that kind of behavior and I can speak up when I have the opportunity. I am taking this opportunity.

I suspect I am preaching to the choir here, but perhaps something here will affect someone somewhere and it will have made a difference. I hope so.

Gypsy Girl - Flash Fiction Friday

2011-09-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

She was a hot blooded gypsy girl in a full skirt and peasant blouse, with an ample load of breasts and dark perky nipples.

Kissing her roughly, I walked her back against the counter. Working my knee in I spread her thighs open, kissing down her neck and shoulder. I could feel her damp heat on my leg as I laid her back onto the counter, wide open and panting in the heat of the moment.

Lifting her knees, her skirt slid up even further. I slipping down to my knees, hooking her legs over my shoulders. Pressing my mouth against her innermost thigh, I heard the mixed cries of ecstasy and anguish as I bit into her femoral artery and began to feed.

Click for details on FFF

The challenge for this Friday is to write a flash fiction of exactly 124 words, incorporating the required word, "load".

Blithely Sauntering

2011-09-14T13:15:00.000-07:00

The Consensual Stalker

He had known it was her habit to spend Friday mornings on a number of errands, generally wrapping a half days worth of activities into one outing. There was the early morning or noon-time yoga class, or a nice quiet coffee shoppe with excellent java and free wifi, or occasionally, just wandering the streets shopping, mostly for clothing, retail therapy she called it. Today was early yoga, and then coffee and a muffin, and now, she was slowly sauntered down the street, peeking in store windows, almost dreamy looking. She had a bounce to her step, occasionally moving to the beat of the music from her ever-present clip-on iPod Shuffle, he imagined.

She half concentrated on the stores but was periodically preoccupied with her phone, either texting or tweeting, but not talking. At times she’d stop and lean against a store front, rapt attention on the small screen, and suddenly burst out laughing, and then look around, self conscious. She wondered if people were looking at her, hoping they might be, and that they might be wondering what she found so laughable.

The day had started when he followed her from her home, across town, and out to the yoga parlor. After she parked and went inside, he went to the cafe across the street, found a window table and had a light breakfast and coffee. Then he leaned back, listened to his book, and waited. As she left the yoga class, he noticed she had changed into the lovely shape hugging, lightweight pink sheath dress, perfect for pulling off and on while shopping. He hoped so, he was looking forward to the idea of a day of watching her pop in and out of stores, knowing how dearly she loved her shopping excursions. He smiled in anticipation of a joyful day of observation, perhaps some embarrassment, a little humiliation and pleasure, certainly a bit of sexuality and excitement.

He watched her came across the street, walk into the cafe, and order coffee and a giant chocolate muffin. She went and sat at a table in the back seating area, waiting for the server to deliver her heated muffin.

He was positioned where he could see her reflection in the window while he appeared to be looking out onto the street. She pulled out her little laptop computer and busied herself with the Internet. The muffin arrived and she divided her time between eating and something on the computer. She busied herself with typing and he wondered if she was writing another story for her blog, she seemed more engaged than simple email or messaging.

After eating her muffin, and drinking a second cup of coffee, she packed her things, got up and headed out to the parking area beside the yoga parlor and got into her car. He got up, walked out after her, climbing into his large black sedan parked at the curb. He started the engine and waited to follow her when she pulled out. As she pulled out, he made a wide U-turn and settled in behind her, heading back toward the downtown shopping area. She looked in her rear view mirror periodically but of course wouldn’t recognize his car, having only seen it the once before, long ago. And that was only a slight image in her rear view mirror at the building supply store.

He followed her back into the downtown area where she pulled into a parking garage. He drove past the parking structure entrance to the end of the block and made another U-turn. He found a parking space beside the parking garage she had pulled into. He remained in the car as she walked out of the garage and headed toward the boulevard shops. After she passed by he got out of the car, crossed the street and took position in the doorway to an office building. From there he watched her as she slowly sauntered down the street, glancing in store windows. When she was half way down the block he opened his Blackberry and sent a text message, “How are you today? Out shopping?”

She replied, “Yes, just started. Went to yoga, then breakfast. Now I’m shopping, you?”

“Yes, I am out today too, enjoying the scenery.”

Reflexively she looked around but in the dark shadows of the doorway, looking through two panes of storefront glass it was unlikely she’d see him.

He sent back a text, “Enjoy your shopping. Buy yourself something nice. Hugs.”

He received her response, “Thanks. Hugs back.”

She put her phone back into her purse and resumed looking at shop windows. He stepped out of the shadows and walked down the sidewalk to the next corner. He leaned against the light pole and watched her as she went from store to store. From time to time she would do a little shuffle dance step or two, clearly enjoying her music. She had always preferred the little Shuffle in lieu of the MP3 player built into her phone, ‘it is so small and cute and easy, the phone is so bulky.’

He decided to give this some more time. He walked further down the street and went into the fountain shop. He got an iced tea, selecting a seat at one of the small window side tables. Sometimes she would pause and look over all the items on display, at other stores she would just slow slightly and glance at the window as she passed by. However, at every clothing store she would thoroughly examine the windows offerings and usually head inside.

After nearly an hour had passed, he pulled out his Blackberry again and composed a text. “Still out shopping? Did you buy anything interesting?”

“Yes still shopping but haven’t found anything I want yet.”

“What did you decide to wear today?”

“Sweat suit earlier, for yoga. Warmer now, changed to a dress, simple sheath, easy to pull off or up in a dressing room.”

“What else?”

“Simple strap sandals.”

“Yes? What else?”

There was a long pause and then, no response. He smiled to himself, imagining, wondering if she was busy with something and not able to reply immediately, or if, more likely, she was reluctant to respond any further. As he sat there looking at the screen, waiting for a response, his attention was captured by movement across the street. He looked up and saw her coming out of the dress shop, phone in her hand, looking around.

Grinning, he typed again, “What else!”

She stared at the phone, looked left and then right, and then back at the phone, and tapped a reply, “panties”.

Even from a distance across the street he could see that she had not worn a bra, but asked anyway, “Panties and a bra?”

Again, she was reluctant to respond, but eventually said, “no, just panties, no bra.”

“Which panties?”

“The white gauzy boy shorts.”

He felt a tingle in his palms from the tactile memory of those white gauze boy shorts, his fingers flexed involuntarily.

“Mmm, my favorite, very nice.”

Again, she looked around. Clearly it seemed that she sensed from his text messages that he might be around, nearby. He was sure that she would not be able to see him through the tinted window of the fountain. As she stood there looking up and down the street he texted back, “Enjoy your shopping, I am sure you are drawing some very appreciative attention.”

Her curt response came back, “No. I’m not.”

“Well, I need to be on my way. Have a good afternoon sweetheart.”

Again, a short, matter of fact reply, “Okay, good bye. I am nearly done and will be heading home.”

“Bye bye.”

She dropped the phone down into her bag and headed down the street and disappeared into another shop.

He got up, refilled his glass and returned to his seat. It was a bright sunny day with a slight breeze and temperatures probably in the low 80’s, a perfect day to sit with a rich sweet tea and watch the world passing by. There was a lot of activity, a lot of shoppers and window shoppers out this morning. Everyone as dressed for a warm fall day, surely glad that the oppressive heat of summer was passing and autumn was on the way.

He looked at the time and was beginning to wonder if he had lost track of her. Perhaps she had left or moved on while he was refilling his tea, or when he’d gone to the restroom. He was considering sending another text message when suddenly she emerged from the original store with a heavily loaded shopping bag. She was headed back toward the parking garage. It seemed that her shopping adventure had borne fruit and was over. He dropped a tip on the table and stepped out onto the street. He followed her along on a parallel route from the opposite side of the street.

When she turned into the parking garage, he dodged between traffic and ran across the street. He did not want to lose track of her in the dark maze of stairs, parking levels and myriad cars. When he entered the structure she was just turning around the corner of the staircase to the second level. He entered the stairwell and followed.

As he got to the second floor landing he heard her above him opening the door to the third level. He paused a moment and then ran up the final flight of stairs. He twisted the door knob slowly, silently and opened it just slightly but could not see her, or anyone. He stuck his head out through the door and looked to the left, deeper into the structure and saw her walking down the aisle toward a bank of cars on the right side of the drive. He stepped out, crossed the driveway and proceeded along the bank of cars and saw her turn in beside her own. He was about a dozen cars away and needed to catch up before she got in.

From one car away, across a vacant parking stall, he saw that she was fumbling with her hand bag, the shopping bag and her keys unlocking the backseat door. As she put her bags into the back seat and slide the door closed he stepped up behind her.

He took hold of her upper left arm and grabbed the back of her neck, pushing her hard up against the side of the car. Leaning in close he spoke into her ear, “Be still” but she continued to struggle against his grip. Looking closer, he let go her left arm, pressed her against the car with his body and reached up and pulled the ear-bud out if her ear and repeated, “Be still.” She seemed to recognize his voice and calmed down, relaxing the fight-or-flight tension in her arms and legs and torso.

Continuing to hold tightly onto the back of her neck he reached around and pulled the ear-bud from her right ear as well. He ran his free hand along the side of her hip and upper thigh and felt the memory. He moved his hand down further and grabbed the material of the dress and struggled to pull it up.

After he got the hem of her dress up around her waist, he let go the material and moved his hand up to her breast. He cupped his hand up under her left breast and felt her warm softness contrasted by the stiff hardening of her nipple. Rolling it back and forth with his thumb and the side of his finger brought a soft murmur and groan, and even greater stiffness. He pinched down harder and twisted, and felt her body tense, and wilt slightly. He loved the warm feel of her body squirming against his.

He let go her nipple and took hold of her left wrist. He guided her hand down across her front, across her stomach and pushed it inside the elastic of her panties, then deeper down. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Touch.”

He felt her hand moving, “Just touch, no rubbing. Curl your middle finger down and under.”

Still holding her wrist, he felt her fingers move. He deepened his voice even further, “Press with your finger, wiggle slightly, up and down. No friction. A very subtle movement.”

He could feel the tension in her stomach as she worked her finger slowly up and down. She was groaning and shifting and rocking in a thrusting motion.

Deep into her ear he said, “Restrain yourself, slow and easy.”

But she continued working her fingers, pushing her skin back and stroking lightly back and forth. She began spasmed repeatedly, like she was receiving little electrical shocks. Suddenly she was grunting and folding over at the waist, jerking and quivering.

He let go her neck and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his body tightly and they both shook with her spasms. Eventually her breathing slowed and her tension relaxed.

He opened the door and nearly poured her into the drivers seat. She collapsed into the seat and leaned her head back against the head rest, eyes closed, seemingly ready to drop off to sleep.

He rolled the window down and closed the door, then leaned in through the opening. A slight smile spread across her face. He reached in and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her head forward and gave her a long, deep kiss. Their tongues touched, teased each other and then he withdrew.

He ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Have a good afternoon sweet girl,” and turned and walked toward the stairwell.

08:46:30 - Ten Years Ago

2011-09-11T05:46:00.000-07:00

Storage/player by Box.net

Only Time - Enya

Footnote - May 1, 2011
I put this post together earlier in the year when I had rediscovered this recording. I remember thinking, this will be the ten year anniversary of 9/11 and so little has been resolved or done, and it saddened me.

Today, tonight, it was announced that Osama Bin Laden was found, and killed, evidently by a U.S. strike force.
A friend tweeted, "No cheers for murder. Of anyone. Ever." I agree with that wholeheartedly and am disheartened by the aggrandizing of so many over this; however:
The professed and confessed assassin of thousands of innocent people is gone, and I don't feel sad about that.

Meditative Head Space

2011-08-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

While reading some discussions on FetLife I came across a description of a state of mind that transported me back over 30+ years in time. A woman was discussing a condition where she was present in the moment but “separate” from the activities going on around her. It does not seem like an out of the body experience, or even that thing that many refer to as “sub space” (more on that later). Here is a link to the FetLife discussion - Mental relating to Physical... where you can read her full posting and all of the various comments by others.

I am sub-setting the conversation for those who do not FetLife, and in the likely case that the discussion might disappear or be archived at some point in the future.

Mental relating to Physical...
by MasterCharles_pet - August 17, 2011

"Just recently, I met my Master and sister slave for the first time. They came to determine if We All...fit Together, which, I am proud to say, We did."

"Something happened that I wanted to share, and see if anyone else has had a similar experience... "

"After a very physical session...well, as physical as One can get in a motel room...I felt myself seem to go into a state very very similar to subspace... I got totally quiet...eyes closed and deep within myself... I could hear Master and donna talking, but it was as if I was removed from the situation... though physically, I could not have been closer to Master, my entire body touching His. I could not answer questions .... until I was "Brought around" by Master asking if I were alright. I wanted to explain to Him that I was much, much better than simply alright...that I felt almost euphoric. That was not the worst beating I have ever been through...far from it... but it seemed so amazingly intimate, as if I gave myself over to Him..."

- - snip - -

"What I feel is that I have learned an introspective skill...where I can actually disappear inside myself, and there keep the joy and hope I have found in being a slave to a Master... and it is hypnotic, calming, possessed... I wish I could share this ability with my sister slaves, friends etc., so they could let themselves go and retreat inside themselves this way."

There follows comments and discussion, and then she adds:

"Understand what everyone is saying....and yes, perhaps it is...simple enough to be defined as subspace.... but I have been there too...and it was brought on during a mind fuck...an intentional act....this was more like a dream, less physical...less a loss of control, and more a deliberate...escape. If it were subspace, I would have recognized it as such, and hardly needed to expound upon it. This was more of a meditative, introspective state...not brought on by pain, or confusion....but brought on by a need to remain...intact."

As I said, I was particularly impressed with the "altered" state of mind she discusses. I understand her distinction between this meditative state of mind,and what she knows as sub space.

Many years ago, I was in the Galleria, in Houston, Texas, where I was living. I was standing at the railing on the top level, looking down into the open spaces below. It was a weekday afternoon, not particularly busy or crowded, but there was a steady flow of people around and the attendant background noise you would expect from such a shopping crowd. I was leaning my arms on the top of the railing and had a foot resting on the lower bar of the railing.

As I stood there I “de-focused” my eyes and let my mind break concentration from specifics. I felt myself shift into a state of mind where it was if everything going on around me was a cloud. Not a series of distinct and individual occurrences but a greater mass. Hearing everything going on, I remember the thought coming into my mind, “This is the noise that humans makes.”

This feeling lasted for a short period of time, probably less than 5 minutes, although I was not sure how much time had really passed. It was very much like she talked about above, “ it was as if I was removed from the situation”.

From my own perspective, this state of mind was not unexpected. I had been reading “The Teachings of Don Juan” by Carlos Castaneda, and other books in the series. In his writings he talks about the concept of “stopping the world”. Which I see as stopping your participation in the world, disconnecting from active or passive involvement from the goings on around you and being apart and separate from everything while being thoroughly in the midst of it all. (For more depth you might want to read the Introduction at Carlos Castaneda's Don Juan's Teachings).

So, it was something that I had been thinking about and in the de-focusing and clearing of my mind, I had actually hoped for such a state to be induced. After a few minutes the feeling cleared and I was back in the present moment, in the midst of a mid afternoon crowd of shoppers.

The similarities of these two events and the various notions of sub space have caused me to wonder about methods for reaching meditative states.

Have any readers had a “sub space” experience similar to the one reported above, something that went beyond what we collectively think of as sub space? What was it like and how was it different? Have others found that sub space functions as a state of mind that leads to a deeper or different meditative state? How, if at all, has it affected your submission?

I am also curious if anyone was a reader/follower of Castaneda and his books about his adventures with the Yaqui Indians, or might have practiced/attempted any of the mental states he discusses in his books?

Agnes's Birthday

2011-07-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

Continued from here

Frederick picked up the phone and called to make reservations for the evening. The phone rang several times and continued to ring, not even rolling over to an answering machine. He double checked the time on his watch, surprised there was no answer. Finally he hung up and turned to the keyboard to set a reminder to call again in a half hour and put his attention on applying the first coat of wax on his boots. As he was working the soft warm wax into the leather he thought about his plans for the evening and wondered how Agnes would fair. He recalled how startled she had been the first time they went to Patrick’s establishment. Her apprehension over the attention she drew from the other men in the bar, her obvious jealousy over the affection displayed by Gretchen and her strict familial influences when it came to things like the water pipe and hashish. She had certainly relaxed over the past months but just as she had bristled at previous exposures to more base proclivities, she was going to be challenged again tonight.

After applying wax to both boots he again sat them in front of the window so that the heat of the sun would soften and open the leather and help it to absorb the wax. It was still too early to call about reservations so he went to the bedroom and pulled the footlocker out from under the bed and set it on the bed bench. He carefully inventoried the various implements to be sure he had all he would be needing. He took out two riding crops, a quirt and a very old tawse, all to be cleaned and treated.

As he was coming out of the bedroom the computer chimed it’s reminder and he called again to make arrangements for the night. They answered this time and he set a reservation for a party of three in the back dining room for 8:15. He inquired to be sure they had a particular Riesling d'Alsace and was assured that it be cooled and waiting. He asked the hostess if she would be sure to pass along the reservation time to Patrick and she assured him that she would.

Frederick realized he had only given Agnes the sketchiest background on the plans for the evening. But that was just as well as he wanted her a bit off balance through the night. Well, not off balance but he did not want her distracted from the matters of the moment by anticipation of later planned events or concerns about things to come. Agnes could be such a worrier, her responses were more relaxed when she had no idea what was about to happen. He resolved to divert any questions about plans for the evening but he did need to call her and provide a few basic instructions.

When Agnes answered the phone, she sounded as if she had just woken up.

“Are you awake?” Frederick asked.

“Oh, yes. I had just dozed off here on the couch for a little bit. I was up very early this morning. I’m excited and looking forward to our date tonight. I wasn’t able to sleep for thinking about this evening. I also wanted to get a head start on my hair. It will take a lot of work to get it the way you want it.”

“I'm glad you are excited about the evening. But it is just dinner out, and then some music, perhaps some dancing.”

“Oh Frederick, you are always minimizing things. It is my birthday and I’m so excited. I remember your comments when we were shopping, about finding special events to show off my lovely new clothes. I’m sure tonight will be wonderful, it certainly will be for me. Maybe you don’t know how much I enjoy our time together?”

“I very much enjoy our time together as well, Agnes, more than you may know. Speaking of dresses, I wanted to be sure you were planning to wear the little black dress tonight?”

“I had not decided yet which of the three outfits to wear, that was part of my morning confusion.”

“Agnes, I want you to wear the little black dress, along with the matching stockings and lingerie we bought to go with it. Also, I want you to wear the black heels and the sliver necklace and earrings that match the outfit so well. You remember, the items I pointed out the other day when you were showing me the jewelry your mother had given you?”

“Okay, thank you, I think it will be a nice looking outfit. Although I do like the bright colored floral dress. And I’m not sure I have all the necessary matching underthings to go with the little black dress.”

“The black dress will be perfect for the occasion. You don’t have all of the things we bought to go with it?”

“Yes, I do Frederick. But, well, it is, the problem is, that not all of my usual underthings were included in the purchases.”

“Ahh, yes, I understand. Simply wear the black dress and the matching items we got to go with it. You don’t need to wear anything else.”

“Okay Frederick. You know I will be uncomfortable dressed that way?”

“Yes, I understand you will Agnes.”

Alright Frederick, I will trust your judgement. The little black dress it is.”

“Good girl.”

Frederick was grinning to himself, knowing that she would find the dress code a little challenging, and recognizing her penchant for worry and over analysis of events. But in the past couple months, she had improved quite a bit and now took most things in stride, particularly when he set out specifics. He noticed she had come to trust in his judgement, knowing that while he offered challenges, he always had the situation well in hand and thought through.

“Is there anything else on your mind that we need to talk about Agnes?”

“I don’t think so, unless you want to tell me your plans for the evening?”

Frederick smiled to himself and with a chuckle in his voice said, “I will come around to pick you up at 7:30. I’m looking forward to this evening.”

With just a little disappointment sounding in her voice she said,“Me too Frederick, very much so. I am sure I will have a good time.”

“I am sure you will Agnes. Good bye for now, I will see you at 7:30.”

“Okay Frederick, thank you.”

Frederick hung up the phone and turned his attention to the cleaning and polishing of the leather goods he had brought out. After he finished with the leather cleaner he put a hefty coat of creme onto the leather of each piece and placed them in the window with his boots, to let them warm and absorb the moisture.

After putting everything away Frederick realized it was lunch time. He made himself a hefty pocket bread sandwich and a bowl of fruit and yogurt. He was excited about the upcoming evening, Agnes’s birthday, and the potentials he had in mind for the night.

As he was cleaning up from lunch the phone rang. It was Patrick, calling to check on the plans for the evening. Frederick confirmed the reservation time and agreed to Patrick’s plans. He said he would see him at dinner and was looking forward to introducing him to Agnes.

Phone call completed and dishes put away, Frederick turned his attention to his desk and several business matters that were begging his attention. He made several calls to business associates, planned some meetings for the upcoming week or two, and settled down to write a business plan for his most recent venture. His mind was swept away into capitalistic schemes, and organizational structure, planning tactics and counter moves. The afternoon slipped away and before he knew it the day light was fading and he realized it was time to put the work aside and get ready for the evening.

Frederick dialed Agnes’s number but it rang through and the call was picked up by the answering machine. Just as he was leaving her a message to call him back she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Frederick, I was just calling to be sure everything is okay for this evening?”

“Oh, yes sir, everything is just fine. I was just getting out of the shower and could not get to the phone quickly enough.”

“Okay, very good. I’ll see you at 7:30.”

“Okay Frederick, goodbye.”

Frederick picked up the leather implements and placed them on the coffee table between the couches. He spent a little time arranging and re-arranging them until he had them just as he wished, looking like they were just casually there even though he had meticulously arranged them. He picked up his boots, took them into the bedroom and placed them at the foot of the bed and undressed to take his shower and get ready.

After his shower he shaved and put on a sparing amount of aftershave. The alcohol in the lotion stung. He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, hung up the damp towel and headed to the closet to pick out his clothes for the evening. He pulled out and pulled on a pair of dark charcoal hard wool slacks. He wound a wide black leather belt through the loops and put on a starched light yellow collar-less shirt, tucked it in, zipped up and buttoned his slacks and buckled the belt.

He went over and sat down on the bed bench and slipped one foot, and then the next into his boots and worked the laces through the eyelets and around the hooks. He cinching them up snugly, buried the tag ends of the laces into the folds of the boot top and pulled his pant cuffs down over the boots. He stood and went to the wall mirror to straighten his clothes. He loosened his belt buckle and adjusted his gig line until it was perfectly aligned, and then buckled the belt again. He went and pulled a blazer out of the closet, slipped it on and stood in front of the mirror again to assess the combination. Satisfied, he went to the dresser and collected his money and wallet and keys, and loaded his pockets. He took off the jacket and draped it over the back of the dressing chair and went to the living room to sit down and relax for a while.

He sat looking out the window as the night sky darken and the horizon lost all light. He was startled when the buzzer rang. He looked down to the street and saw that the car had arrived. He went and got his jacket, laid it over his arm and headed down to meet the driver.

He greeted the driver and let himself be ushered into the backseat of the car. He reminded him that he needed to stop at the small flower shop around the corner, and the car pulled away. They drove down the street and around the corner and pulled up in front of the florist. Frederick stepped out and went and collected the rose buds he had ordered. He got back into the car and they drove off toward Agnes’s apartment. He sorted through the roses and found the best bud of the bunch and sat it on the seat.

When the car pulled up in front of Agnes’s building Frederick picked up the rose bud, climbed out of the car and left the back door open. He walked up the stairs, rang the bell and Agnes opened the door. Frederick was startled by how lovely she looked. Her hair hung down exactly as he had hoped it would, partly down over her shoulders and partly down the front of her dress. He stepped around her into the apartment and then turned to look at her more completely.

She was wearing the little black dress and it fit her perfectly. It came just a third of the way down her thighs, short by some standards but that was precisely as he wanted it. The dress just covered the tops of the dark thigh high stockings and the black high heels finished off the outfit perfectly.

“You look absolutely gorgeous young lady!”

Agnes acted coy and shy but said, “Well thank you, very much. I feel very dressed up in all of this. It’s not something I would normally wear on my own but I love how it feels and I love that you chose it for me.”

Frederick stepped forward and reached for the slit at the front of the dress, slipping his hand inside and lightly brushing her skin of her breast with the backs of his knuckles. He pulling the dress out slightly and worked at pinning the rose on above her left breast. He could see her shiver and shake just slightly at his touch. She involuntarily pulled away just a bit at first, but settled herself and let him proceed with pinning the rose on. He loved how her skin felt against the back of his hand and her shivered reaction. That, and the combination of the scent of the rose and her perfume were working their magic on him and he felt a little more than slightly aroused.

He stepped back and looked at her again, rose bud in place and smiled a broad smile. “You look absolutely lovely! Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, I think so, although I couldn’t decide which handbag to use with this outfit.”

Frederick smiled and said, “You won’t need a handbag this evening Agnes. Give me your keys and what ever else you need to bring along and I’ll put them in my coat pockets.”

Agnes went to a little side table and picked up keys, and a lipstick and a compact and handed them to Frederick. He put them into various pockets of his jacket.

“There. Is there anything else?”

“No, that is it. I’m ready to go.”

Frederick took hold of Agnes’s wrist and walked her out the door, down the stairs and ushered her into the back seat of the car. He noticed the look of surprise on her face when she saw the a car, with a driver, sitting in front of her building, waiting for her. He closed the door and walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door and slide in. He picked up the bundle of roses from seat and set them on the back package tray, “These are for the table at dinner.”

Agnes was very quiet, but then managed a soft, “This is really something Frederick, I was fully expecting to be walking to dinner. It’s such a lovely night out, I thought you might enjoy the outing. But I’m grateful, I was worried about too much walking in these heels.”

They both laughed and Frederick said, “It’s your birthday and a special night, so special arrangements are appropriate.”

Agnes turned and looked out the car window as it snaked it’s way through the streets and very shortly pulled up in front of the restaurant. Seeing that they arrived, she reached for the door handle and started to open the door to get out. Frederick put his hand on her arm and shook his head. She stopped and waited for him to get out of the car and come around and open her door. He reached down and offered his hand as she swung her legs out and onto the ground. He looked down and saw just how far up the dress rode when she was sitting and how lovely her legs looked. She took his hand and pulled herself up out of the car, also noticing how Frederick was staring at her. As she stood up, she consciously pulled down on the hem of the dress.

Frederick leaned in and picked up the roses. He told the driver that he would call when they were ready to be move on to their next destination, estimating it would be at least two hours from now. He pushed the door closed and the car pulled away. Frederick took hold of Agnes’s arm and guided her across the sidewalk, through the door and into the restaurant. As they walked into the foyer, Frederick greeted the people in front of him.

“Good evening, Frederick party, we have a reservation for dinner.” The matire de looked down at his list and then back at Frederick and said, “Party of three?” Frederick said, “Yes, but only two of us are here now. We can be seated, we don’t need to wait.”

And then . . .

It's Hell Getting Old

2011-06-09T12:43:00.000-07:00

Once again, from xkcd.com

The Path

2011-05-22T10:19:00.000-07:00

We walked along the path, winding, meandering between very mature trees and overgrown bushes, heading nowhere in particular, just forward. We held hands, fingers interlaced, curled between each others. Further along, the undergrowth because more dense and I let go of your hand and placed my arm around your waist, and yours slipped up around mine as well. We walked on deeper and deeper into the dark overgrown underbrush and the overshadowing canopy of the old trees, now nearly blocking the sunlight, there were barely shadows. I slid my hand up your back, between your shoulder blades and up onto your shoulder, hooking my fingers around the point of your shoulder and pulling you closer to me and your hand moved further around the outside of my waist, your thumb hooked into my belt band. The path slanted downward, a slight but constant downhill grade and the umbrella of the trees was even thicker and the underbrush intruded onto the path, brushing against our legs and our sides, making the path narrower, pushing us closer to each other. As we were encouraged closer by the narrowing trail I moved my hand from your shoulder to the back of your neck, thumb on one side, fingers wrapped around to the other side, and my grip tightened. I could feel your muscles tense against the pressure and I squeezed your neck even tighter, moving my hand and fingers up under your hair, tangling and twisting strands between my fingers. Deeper and deeper into the darkness of the overshadowing trees and the infringing closeness of the bushes, the path inclined even more and now less winding, led down off in the distance, into the darker, denser undergrowth. When we rounded a slight bend the path widened and was braced by long stone benches on either side and the surface tilted off to either side and we moved instinctively toward a bench. Your leg bumped against the side of the bench, you knelt one knee onto the seat and the weight of my body pushed you down, leaning forward so that you had to brace yourself with your hand. I pushed down on you even harder, bending you down further until your forehead was also on the surface of the bench. With your arms on the bench you tried to push back up, out from under my weight but I leaned down more heavily, my body pressing against your back. Attempting to avoid me, you slid partially off of the bench but the edge pressed across your thigh at the hip. The sun was fading from the sky and the heavy overgrowth of the trees nearly blocked all of the daylight, the darkness of evening flowing in between the branches and through the bushes. Squirming, you tried sliding off the bench, trying to escape by curling into a fetal position to protect yourself but instead the hard edge cut deeper into your thigh, trapped between the edge of the bench and the full weight of my body pressing down onto your back. Then as the sun dropped behind the horizon, the darkness settled down completely. I moved my mouth from the back of your neck, over your ear, my full weight down on you. Unable to see in the growing darkness, my hand moved to the back of your neck, I felt my way to you, fully engaged, in the total darkness.

Frederick - Shopping

2011-05-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

Continued from here

It was still just early morning but Frederick pulled his boots out of the closet to polish them for the evening. He also checked his pants and shirts to be sure everything was back from the cleaners and fresh. Tonight he would dress up and take Agnes out on the town for dinner and then some entertainment. He collected the boot black and cloths and water. He gathered some old newspapers to spread out to minimize the mess and protect his documents. He set up his work space and his mind began ruminating over his involvement with Agnes over the past couple of months.

While working on the boots he glanced over his journal notes for several of their “dates”. And he did consider them dates. It was an interesting courtship if that is what it was. Most of his relationships had been intense from the very start for an extended period of time, but he felt very much like he was courting Agnes, slow and deliberate, methodical and filled with feints within feints. She was so much younger and unfamiliar with his more mature and formal style. So he always felt he was presenting himself and she needed to be reminded on a regular basis of the structure of their relationship. He knew she was playing coy with him at times and teasing along, two steps forward, one step back, or to the side. He did not think they were deliberate ploys but maybe deflections borne from uncertainty.

He loved the sensuality of rubbing and working boot cream into the deep black leather, making swirls, building up depth and thickness. He worked meticulously, being sure to get the cream up under the various buckles. Once he finished working the cream into the leather he would let it sit so the leather would absorb the moisturizing cream. Later he would buff off the patina and add layers of warm soft wax.

He recalled a couple weeks ago, while walking down the street Agnes had been captivated by the dress and women’s wear shops, stopping and looking in all the windows. She stared in ecstatic wonder at the treasures in the shop windows. ‘Window shopping’ she called it but Frederick felt differently about it. In his mind, if you were going shopping you decided what you were looking for and went to a shop that would offer what you wanted and bought it. He recognized that his more direct approach was considerably different than hers. He was not sure whether it was really their different ages and life experiences, or if it was just a fundamental difference. The results of their shopping trip that afternoon helped to resolve the contradiction in his mind.

Frederick began making note of the particular clothing styles that seemed to catch her interest. When they came to the street corner he grabbed Agnes’s elbow and turned her to the right to cross the street, even though she had just then been turning the corner to go left. She followed along passively looking back over her shoulder, perhaps thinking about what she might have missed rather than really watching where they were going. A few doors down Frederick turned her into the entrance to a particular shop. Agnes turned to him and smiled, “Oh, look at the lovely dresses in these windows. I really do like the looks of these.”

Frederick smiled to himself, happy that he had interpreted her window shopping correctly. “Shall we go in and have a look around?”

“Oh, yes, I would like that. Yes, please.”

They walked past the foyer windows and on into the shop. They were greeted by two young sales girls and one of them addressed Frederick. “Good afternoon Sir. It is very nice to see you again. It has been a long while since you have been in.” They were both beaming, and Frederick could feel the slightest tug on his arm as Agnes recoiled back just a bit.

“Good afternoon ladies, I am happy to see you again. We are on a mission today to find the perfect dress. A dress to be worn to a very special dinner and night on the town; a dress that will show this lovely girl in all of her splendor. This is Agnes and I would appreciate you showing her your best offerings. Make no assumptions and show her a number of choices. Stir her imagination and find something to accentuate her beauty.”

The two girls smiled enthusiastically, came forward and each took hold of one of Agnes’s elbows and led her toward the racks. Agnes cast a questioning glance back at Frederick and he smiled, nodding his head in approval, encouraging her with a gesture to go ahead with the girls and see what they produced. Frederick followed along to the open space near the changing rooms and said, “I will sit here and enjoy the show. When you find a few appropriate dresses, Agnes can go and try them on and let me see how they look on her.”

Frederick found a leather wing backed chair and settled himself down. The three girls had gone off into the racks of clothing and he could just barely hear their titters now and then, punctuated by the occasional giggle or burst of laughter. After a few minutes they emerged from the racks and each of the girls were carrying several dresses and skirt/jacket outfits. Agnes followed along behind and as the girls stood in front of Frederick she stepped up and said, “Which of these do you like?”

“On the hangers they are just colorful pieces of cloth and I can’t decide anything other than perhaps I might favor a color or general cut. I need you to give them shape and life, show me how they take form when you put them on. Take them into the dressing room and try them on. If you like how they feel on you and look in the changing mirror, then come out and show me.”

“Which ones should I take?”

“Take all of them.”

And with that, the girls headed off toward the changing rooms with their collections. Agnes held back and looked at Frederick. Frederick smiled at her and gestured for her to “go, go, go on go” and she reluctantly followed along and disappeared into the dressing room maze. Once again there was the occasional giggle and laughter. Shortly, Agnes came out wearing a very nice floral patterned summer dress and stood in front of Frederick, hands crossed in front of herself, very tentative. Frederick noticed she had no shoes on and said, “Stand on the balls of your feet, as if you had on a pair of heels. Turn around and show off the dress.”

Agnes got up on her toes and took several steps and turned in a small circle, making the skirt of the dress billow and flow out. Quickly she seemed to lighten up and brighten up and fell into the playfulness of a little girl in a pretty new dress. After two circles and a slight spin, she stopped again in front of Frederick and said, “What do you think?”

“It is a very pretty dress but I am sure there are many more to try on and model. Set this one aside on a ‘possible’ hook and pick another for me to see. Later we will trim down the possibles.” Agnes grinned and disappeared back into the dressing room.

In a couple of minutes she came back out wearing another dress, similar to the first but in a bright solid color, not a floral pattern. One of the sales girls came out with her and walked over and stood beside Frederick’s chair. Frederick gestured up with the palm of his hand (up on your toes) and then spun his finger around (spin around and show me), and Agnes moved as instructed. Once again she finished, standing in front of Frederick with the obvious question on her face. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. She nodded her agreement and headed back to the dressing room.

The sales girl knelt down beside Frederick, put her hand on his forearm on the arm of the chair. Leaning in, she whispered, “She is a very pretty girl Sir, with a lovely figure. It is easy to see why you fancy her.”

“Thank you Camille. I agree completely. She is new to Paris and in need of a friend. I am happy to befriend her and help her in any way that I can.”

Camille chuckled as she stood up to head back to the dressing room, “Yes, of course Sir. Your friendship is very generous and appreciated, I am sure.”

She gave him a wry smile and disappeared behind the curtain.

Again there was much laughter and giggling from the changing room area and Frederick began to wonder if they had become derailed from the dressing process. Then finally there was quiet and a couple minutes later Agnes emerged again.

This time she was wearing a blazer and skirt combination. It seemed particularly provocative because she had no blouse on under the buttoned up jacket. The outfit was even more appealing because of the way her calves were accentuated by the tip-toeing and the skirt was mid thigh, with broad pleats. It was a medium charcoal gray that went nicely with the dark blue of the blazer; very classic looking. Agnes did her tip toe, spin around, flare and twirl showoff routine and landed fore-square in front of Frederick again smiling broadly.

He looked the outfit up and down and with a broad smile, nodded his approval. Agnes smiled back and turned and ran back into the changing room and there was the familiar giggling again.

Over the next half hour Agnes came and went several times with a variety of different styles and shapes and colors. Frederick made a mental note of a couple of his favorites and was keeping track of the ones that Agnes said she liked as well.

Finally, Agnes came out in a little black dress that immediately caught Frederick’s attention. It was shaped in a way that highlighted all of the strong features of Agnes’s figure. It had a nice trim waist, slightly flared at the hips, three quarter sleeves and high neck line but with a slit that exposed a good deal of cleavage in a provocative and immodest way. The length was shorter than many of the others, showing not only her lovely calves but the musculature of the backs of her thighs. Frederick was particularly fond of Agnes’s legs, not too thin, muscular and strong without being bulky, ‘swimmers legs’ was the description he had heard that seemed perfect to him. The dress was immediately slotted at the top of his favorites list.

After Agnes modeled the little black dress she stood before him with a sad face and said, “I have run out of selections to show you.”

“Have you found something that appeals to you?”

“Oh, yes, I have, yes.”

“Why don’t you go back and change into your own dress and send Darlene out here. Camille can help you change and gather your things.”

Agnes disappeared and Darlene emerged. “Darlene, please hang everything we have tried on today on a small rack and bring it back out here. Also, discreetly gather her measurements and sizes for lingerie.Thank you.”

Darlene walked over close to Frederick and squatted down in front of him and spoke softly.

“Certainly, Mr. Frederick. It is wonderful to see you again. It has been a long time. I have missed you.”

He reached out and took hold of her hand and pulled her up, “It is good to see you too, Darlene.”

They smiled warmly at each other, she rose and turned and went back to the changing room.

When Agnes came back out she was in her old summer dress and sandals. She was accompanied by Camille. Darlene came out behind them with the rack and placed it in the middle of the floor. Frederick stood up and walked over to Agnes, took her hand and led her over to the rack. “Do you have a favorite among all of these?”

Agnes looked them over, reached out and touched one and said, “Yes, I do, this one.”

“That is a very nice dress, I like that one too.” He pulled the skirt and blazer out a bit and asked, “How about this?”

“Yes, I like that too, but think I prefer this other dress.”

Frederick reached into the rack again and pulled out the little black dress, “And this one?”

Agnes looked confused by his questioning, her smile was gone and she seemed to tense up, “That is nice too, but I really do like this one.” Again, indicating her first choice.

Frederick stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her to his side, “It is okay, I am not trying to change your mind or make you pick something you don’t want.”

He could see her visibly relax again. He pulled her even closer so she was standing side by side against him with his hand on the back of her neck. Frederick turned to the two girls and said, “We will take these three, the two dresses and the blazer outfit.”

Agnes pulled away a bit and said, “I can’t afford these dresses, Frederick. The one dress is within my range, but there is no way I can get all three of these outfits.”

“It is a treat from me Agnes. I brought you into this store and it is what I wanted to do. I also know your birthday is coming up very soon and so this is an early gift for you.”

Agnes threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. “Oh Frederick, thank you so much, but this is too much. These dresses are expensive. I can’t let you do this.”

Frederick smiled down at her and said, “You are very welcome and it is not a matter of you letting me do this or not. It is what I am doing. These will be nice additions to your wardrobe and will inspire me to find opportunities to show you off. I will be challenged to find outings which will befit you and these lovely outfits.”

Agnes hugged him tightly again and said softly, “Thank you so much Frederick. You are so good to me. I am a lucky girl, thank you.”

Frederick gestured to Camille to pull out and package up the three selections. He untangled himself from Agnes and said, “Agnes, go with Darlene, I think there are a couple more things that you will need to compliment these dresses. She knows what is needed and will help you.”

Frederick smiled at the recollection. it had been a fun afternoon; a great outing. He picked up one of his boots and pushed the shoe stretcher down into the toe, locked it in place and did the same with the other boot. With the leather stretched and formed he started vigorously brushing off the patina of the cream in preparation for applying the wax.

When he finished buffing the boots he picked up the bottles and cans and papers and tidied his desk. He set the boots in the sun to warm them in preparation for applying the wax. Looking at the time, he walked over and picked up the phone and called to make reservations for the evening.

Agnes reflects on the shopping trip

White Drape - Friday Flash Fiction

2011-04-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

("White Drape" by Ricardo "r/ace" Acevedo)

"Sit down! No, not there. The chair against the wall."

Slowly, reluctantly, she stood up off the sofa and slid smoothly into the chair. Her nakedness was silhouetted in the gathering dark that shot odd shadows over the contours of her pale skin.

She just sat there staring up at him. He couldn’t tell if it was disdain or shame on her face. She just leered silently.

He walked over, snatched a corner of the chair’s covering and threw it. It landed half way across her body. Still she didn’t move or speak. He stood there, staring down, stoic. She continued her silent stare, but the corner of her mouth started to quiver just slightly.

He walked back across the room, picked up the control, pressed the Play button and said, “Just exactly who is this man?”

She adjusted her position but remained silent. She did not look at the scene, but tears began filling the corners of her eyes.

The challenge, use the picture above to write a flash fiction of 60-160 words, using the phrase "...the gathering dark..."

Click to learn about FFF

You can find links to all of the Friday Flash Fiction participants by scrolling down to the
bottom of the story at Insatiabear: A Panserbjørne's Musings or Erotic Flash Fiction.

Pain Rating

2011-04-13T14:05:00.000-07:00

Never ask someone to imagine the worst

From XKCD.com - webcomics of romance, sarcasm, math, and language

Humble Pie

2011-03-25T15:39:00.000-07:00

Humiliation vs Humility

Given a circumstance in which you need to humble yourself; you can have two reactions, ego based denial, or self revealing acceptance.

Apologize for inconveniencing another/others, taking responsibility and having that conversation with the offended party. You often fear that they will think less of you, not trust or value you as they did before you screwed up, and that can cause you to avoid, or excuse, or deflect, or deny; or, you can stand up and say, yes I did it. Thank them for the opportunity to set it right and demonstrate you have learned a lesson; which will raise your value and integrity in their eyes immensely, and within yourself as well.

e[lust] edition #24

2011-03-23T11:33:00.000-07:00

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] #25? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
Women, Swinging, and Seduction – From Meeting to Fucking in the Swinging Lifestyle: “My wife wants to drop out of swinging and instead have an open relationship…” announced a good friend of mine..

The Scent of a Woman (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Snatch): Years back, during a scene, I had my dominant lean in and whisper lasciviously that he could “smell my wet pussy” and I started to cry.

5 Kinky Toys from the Office Supply Store: If you’re a nerd like me, you find the idea of office supplies a little bit arousing already but Pet & I paid a recent visit with an even more focused purpose — finding the best pervertibles Staples had to offer.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~
Two Fantasies in One: The sexting progressed from just spanking and fingering to fingering both my holes, to slipping a butt plug in to punish me for being a naughty girl. By the time Tuesday came around we were both very horny and on edge to get together.

~ e[lust] Editress ~
Ethics in Blogging: Ethics don’t always equal human kindness/respect for others. You can be a snarky, grumpy shit-stirrer but still be ethical. You can be sweet as pie on the outside and be unethical.

See all the other great submissions for this edition Click Here

Frederick - Courtyard Afternoon

2011-03-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

Continued from Agnes makes lunch

Frederick watched her walking away, enjoying the way her body moved. There was a natural flow to the dress, it clung at her hips and accented the shape of her buttocks. The hem of the skirt flipped up to the back of each thigh alternately as she took each step and her hair swung in cadence with her arms. He watched her as she climbed her way back up the spiral stairway until she disappeared into the building.

He turned and walked back toward the far corner of the courtyard. He wanted to inspect the bushes where Agnes had been foraging earlier. He wanted to see where she had gone and what she might have seen. As he approached the shrubs he saw her footprints in the soft soil and could see where she seemed to have carefully stepped over the ground cover and flowers and moved back into the bushes. There was a trail where she had passed most of the way through the bushes and had almost reached the walkway that was hidden behind the hedgerow. Frederick walked on through the hedge and onto the walkway along the edge of the building.

Moving along the edge of the building he heard a movement and rustling inside the shed. The sound made him smile. He spoke in a calm and soft voice, “Hello sweet girl.” Then he moved on along the walkway, past the screening and onto the garden tool shed. In the garden shed he picked up a rake and went about cultivating the ground both he and Agnes had walked across. He took the knife out of it’s sheath and pruned a few errant branches away. Satisfied, he returned the trimmings and the rake to the garden shed. As he walked back he heard the rustling again and he paused to lean in and look through the screening. There she was; such a beauty. He said, “Such a sweet girl,” then moved on and followed the walkway back around the far end of the hedgerow and followed the path back into the opening.

Frederick stood still, enjoying the afternoon sun shining on his back, warming him, soothing his sore muscles. He felt good. Finally he focused his attention on the courtyard. He looked around, surveying the areas where he would need to direct Franco to focus his attention. His mind engaged, trying to calculate the size of crew that would be best for the work to be done.

Off in to the distance he spotted Agnes coming down the stairway with the picnic basket on her arm, once again struggling with the tree branches. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and got out onto the pathway she moved the load to her hand. As she walked up to Frederick he reached out and gave her a broad smile and a small greeting hug.

“Thank you very much, Agnes. I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost, but I see you have been very busy.”

He took the basket from her, put his arm around her shoulder and lead her over toward the grassy knoll where they could spread out a picnic spot to sit and have a bite to eat. As they walked, she put her arm around his back. Her hand went around to his opposite side and fell onto the sheath of his knife.

“What is this Frederick?” she asked, grabbing and pulling at the sheath through his shirt.

“It’s a knife.”

Just then he stopped, set the basket on a wooden bench, took out the table cloth and spread it on the ground.

“This will be a nice spot for our little picnic. There is a nice view of the big trees from here and the sun will help keep us warm.”

He took Agnes’s hand and guided her down to a sitting position on the ground, turned and picked up the basket, sat down himself and placed the basket between them. Agnes immediately started pulling out plates and glasses and wrapped bundles of food. She pulled out a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Frederick to open. He was pleased that she had chosen mineral water rather than wine as he had suggested. While Agnes busied herself arranging sandwiches and coleslaw onto plates she smiled and handed the fruit to Frederick.

“Perhaps you can use your knife to cut these for us.”

Frederick peeled and sectioned the fruit, arranging pieces on each plate, along with the sandwiches and slaw.

He poured drinks for the two of them, setting the glasses on the bench behind them and then handed a plate to Agnes and took one for himself.

“This is a lovely meal you have prepared for us Agnes. This is much nicer than I imagined I had the making for in the house. Thank you very much.”

He handed her a glass, picked up his, smiled and offered a toast, “Bon appetit.” They tapped their glasses and took a good healthy drink. They both laughed, and settled quietly to eating. As they ate, Frederick talked more about the courtyard, specifically the need to have some maintenance work done. He pointed here and there as he talked, and Agnes followed his conversation and gestures, quietly taking in all of his explanation but not saying anything in response other than the occasional exclamation, indicating her attention and understanding.

After they finished eating, Agnes gathered the plates and linen and glasses and stowed them away back into the basket. Once everything was collected and put away Agnes reached down into the bottom of the basket and pulled out a little bag of wrapped chocolates she had found in the refrigerator. She offered the bag to Frederick who took it, smiling. He reached into the bag, took out a few pieces and offered some back to Agnes. She smiled in return and they ate the little chocolate dessert. When the chocolates were gone, Frederick folded the bag and put it back into the basket, pushed the basket up under the bench and laid back on the ground with his arms crossed under the back of his head. Agnes followed his lead, and laid out on her side facing Frederick and rested her head on her curled arms.

Frederick jerked his head up, not realizing he had even fallen asleep. He was groggy and dazed and disoriented. It seemed almost dark; the sun had gone down behind the buildings and the afternoon shade was heavy. He turned to speak to Agnes but she was not there.

“God damn it,” he thought to himself, “she has wandered off again.”

Frederick sprung up and looked around, confused. He turning left, then right, still he could not see her. He walked down to the center of the courtyard where he could see in all directions. Still he could not see her. He walked back to the bench where they had eaten and wondered if her curiosity had drawn her to the corner again. He walked off in that direction looking here and there for her, but she was no where to be found. He reached the corner and there was no sign of her. He cursed again, and turned and headed back. When he rounded the hedges there she was, sitting on the bench, pulling the water bottle and a glass out of the picnic basket.

She stood up and said, “Oh, Frederick, there you are. This is such a beautiful place. I absolutely . . . ”

“Where have you been?” he interrupted.

She half turned and pointed off behind herself and said, “I was just looking at the little pond of koi over there.”

“This is the second time you have wandered off from me, even after I instructed you not to stray.”

“But you were napping and I wanted to let you rest. I heard the little waterfall there and went to have a look at it.”

“I am very disappointed in your behavior and am not sure what it is going to take to impress upon you the importance of following my instructions.”

“But Frederick, I just walked over there by the little pond.”

“Agnes, I told you I understand your curiosity but I cannot have you wandering off.”

“Frederick, I am sorry, I . . .” but she trailed off, lowering her head.

“I have already told you that ‘I am sorry’ is not good enough. When you are with me, you will follow my instructions or there is no point.”

“Frederick, I don’t understand why you are being so mean. Do you not want me to be here? Would you rather I leave?”

Frederick stepped forward and grabbed hold of her shoulder. She had to look up to see his face as he spoke.

“Stand here and be still. I very much want you here, but you can not just roam free. This is the second time you have wandered off, even after I told you not to. I have good reason to insist that you stay put and not go off by yourself.”

He reached down and untied the rope that was around Agnes’s waist, and stretched it out. He folded it in half, took out his knife and cut the rope into two equal pieces. He tossed the pieces over his shoulder.

“Sit down on the bench.”

Agnes just stood there, looking back at Frederick. Frederick looked directly into her eyes, with his own steady gaze. She had a defiant look, although he thought he saw her lip quivering.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

“Sit down Agnes.”

“No.”

“Agnes,” and then he paused with his gaze locked onto her eyes, returning his own resolute determination, "You need to do as you are told, or you can go home right now."

Still she continued to look up at him, unmoving but her eyes were softening. Frederick stood his ground, looking directly into her eyes, his expression placid, but determined.

“Agnes, please sit down on the bench.”

Very slowly, reluctantly, she stepped back, glanced behind herself and sat down on the bench. She sat huddled, looking up at Frederick.

"Are you going to do as you are told?"

She sat and stared, silent, as if still weighing the choices. Then, she slumped in resignation and nodded her head.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

Again, she was silent, just nodding her head, settling into the seat even more.

Frederick said, “Trust me Agnes, you will understand soon enough.” She just sat quietly, seemingly resigned to her choice.

Frederick removed the bandannas from around his neck and folded them neatly into a wide blindfold. He went around behind Agnes and placed the blindfold across her eyes then pulled it taut to the back of her head and tied three sound knots. He came back around and asked, “How does that feel? Is it comfortable?”

Her response was a soft and simple, “It is okay.”

“Now I am going to bind your legs and wrists.”

Agnes nodded her head.

Frederick pushed her skirt half way up her thighs then took hold of her knees and positioned them directly together. He wrapped the rope under the back of her knees, then up across the top of her thighs, and back around underneath, three wraps around. Then he wrapped the rope around the coils, down between her thighs and knees, cinching the other wrappings tighter, and tied off the ends.

“Put your hands behind your back.” She balked at this, but Frederick stood in still silence, waiting for her to respond, “Well?” Finally she did as he asked. He went around behind the bench and wrapped the rope around her wrists, and then around itself, just as he had done with her knees. He wrapped the ends of rope through one of the rails of the bench seat and tied it tight.

“Comfortable?”

She did not answer.

After a moment he said, “Sit here and be still. Do not attempt to move or change position. Sit absolutely still. Even if you hear me talking, or I talk to you, do not respond. I need you to be quiet. I will let you know very directly if and when it is okay for you to move or to speak, and until I do, be quiet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Frederick.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, “I am going away for a few minutes but won’t be far off. If you hear me returning, do not speak to me, be still and be quiet.“

“Please don’t leave me here by myself, not like this.”

“It will be alright Agnes, trust me, you will never be out of my sight, but I need you to be silent and still.”

Frederick walked the path to the hedgerow and turned down the walkway along the edge of the building. When he reached the screening he looked in again and muttered a soft “Hello.” He took out his keys and unlocked the door to the inner room of the shed. He closed and latched the outer door and then took down a leash from the tack wall opposite the inner door. It was a short sturdy leash, perhaps 2 feet long, heavy rolled leather, with brass hardware at one end, and a wrist loop at the other. He draped the leash around the back of his neck and opened the inner door and walked in, closing it behind him.

He stepped forward slowly and bent down on one knee. He spoke in a calm and soft voice, “Hello sweet girl, how are you?” He reached out and took gentle handfuls of jowls and affectionately rubbed with his thumbs. She offered no resistance and clearly enjoyed the affection. He pulled the leash off his shoulders and clipped the brass snap to the ring on the collar. He stood, pulled up on the leash and she got to her feet and followed him to the door.

He led her through the inner door, then unlatched and opened the outer door. They walked on through and out into the courtyard, down the walkway and back toward the clearing. When they turned into the clearing, she started off to the right, almost walking in front of Frederick and nearly tripping him. He jerked on the lead and returned her to his left side and she fell back into a proper pace, at his side and slightly back and half step or so, just as she had been trained.

They followed the winding path and arrived at the clearing and Frederick could see Agnes sitting on the bench, exactly as he had left her although she had crossed her ankles and tucked her feet back under the bench. She did not look relaxed, which did not surprise him. He knew this was a challenging situation for her, for anyone really, to be contained so tightly, bound and blindfolded. He could imagine how her mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all while struggling to accept his control and instruction and accept this predicament.

Rather than sitting relaxed, she seemed hyper-alert. She turned her head in his direction as he approached. It was as if she was watching him coming toward her. When he passed in front of Agnes, Frederick turned and circled around behind the bench and stopped immediately behind her. He saw Agnes make very slight movements of her head as if trying to focus her ears to the sounds around her, but other than that she was remaining completely still and silent, exactly as he had instructed her.

“Agnes, I am going to untie your hands but I want you to keep them behind you. Do not move in anyway. Nod your head slightly if you understand.”

Agnes nodded her head.

Frederick reached down, pulled the knot loose, and unwrapped the rope from around her wrists. Agnes moved her hands to shrug the rope off, but then clasped her hands together again. Frederick pulled the rope loose and let it drop to the ground.

He circled back around in front of the bench, and stopped directly in front of Agnes. He tightened his hold on the lead, pulled it forward and they closed the distance to Agnes.

“Agnes, you are going to feel some movement. I want you to continue to remain calm and still. Understood?”

Agnes slowly moved her head up and down.

“Good girl. You will feel some movement of the bench and maybe some touch. In a minute I am going to reach out and remove your blindfold so you can see. Do not be alarmed. Everything is under control. I have the situation completely in hand.”

Agnes slowly nodded her head again.

Frederick pull the lead forward so the cat was standing directly in front of Agnes, sniffing at her knees, and putting her nose in the air. She was tasting the scent of this stranger in front of her. She was completely calm, but very curious. She turned her head and looked at Frederick and he offered her comfort and calm; more sounds than words. He stepped back and pulled up and forward on the lead. She rose up and moved closer, standing on her hind legs and putting her wide front paws on the bench, on either side of Agnes’s legs. She was eye to eye with Agnes, still sniffing the air around this new person.

She turned her head to Frederick again, and he said, “Good girl, just be calm, everything is fine.”

He realized suddenly that Agnes probably thought he was talking to her, and said, “Okay Agnes, now I am going to remove your blindfold and introduce you to my friend. Close your eyes and only open them on my command. Again, everything is fine, just relax and do not speak yet.”

Frederick sat down on the edge of the bench, reached over and pulled the blindfold up and off Agnes’s head, noticing that her eyes were indeed closed, tightly. He held off saying anything for a minute, to give everything a moment to settle down, and then, “Okay, Agnes, you can open your eyes now.”

Agnes opened her eyes and pulled her head back, startled. Her eyes opened even wider with the realization. There was shock and alarm in her eyes but she did not appear to be panicked. She sat stark still, staring up into the cats face. She was frozen and Frederick noticed that she was holding her breath. Frederick put his hand on her shoulder, massaging, and felt the tension in her muscles.

“Agnes, just relax and let your breath out. Everything is under control and there is no danger here.”

Frederick looked at the cat to affirm his control and saw that she was completely calm, but was definitely curious about this new person.

“This is Sheaden. She belongs to the man who owns the corner building. He is affiliated with the circus company here in town.”

At the mention of her name, the cat reared her head and leaned it to the side, looking at Frederick like she was expecting something. He looked at Agnes and saw she still had not moved, although she was breathing. He rubbed her shoulder and the back of her neck.

“Agnes, she is retired from the circus and was brought here to live a quiet and peaceful life. She is completely tame. She has always been very good with people, but she can be very protective of this space, her home.”

Frederick felt the muscles in her shoulder and back relaxing. He continued to rub her neck and she had turned her gaze to him, watching him speak. She seemed to be drawing calm from his words and relaxed, matter of fact manner.

“You can bring your hands up slowly now and reach out and pet her.”

But Agnes did not make a move, she just sat still, looking back and forth between Frederick and the cat in front of her.

“Go ahead Agnes,” and he slid his hand down her arm and encouraged her to move it forward. “She is familiar with you now and will not react to your attention or touch, other than perhaps to purr.” Frederick hoped this light hearted remark and a smile would help her relax even further.

Agnes slowly brought her hand up and placed it on the side of the cat’s neck, working her fingers into the cat’s fur and scratching slowly, tentatively. Sheaden tilted her head slightly in response to the scratching behind her ear and a deep rumble came from within her chest. Frederick knew the cat liked to be scratched behind the ear and was smiling in her own way.

“She is very much enjoying your attention, you are scratching her in exactly the right place, just behind her ear. She is smiling at you and voicing her pleasure.”

Agnes gave a slight smile to Frederick and continued petting her. Agnes was noticeably more relaxed now, she seemed to feel safe again.

“She is a beautiful animal Frederick, and she does seem friendly and calm. This is why you did not want me exploring on my own?”

“I assure you, if you had come up upon her in her den she would not have been calm and friendly. There is no telling how she would have reacted to you, but I can assure you she would have become very territorial. For now I have her relaxed and under control. Since you are with me, and she was allowed to get a sense of you, this is going to be okay. As long as you are in my company, you do not present a threat to her or her territory.”

Agnes smiled, and nodded. She was now stroking and scratching and caressing the cats head, neck and ears with both hands. Frederick settled on the bench next to Agnes while she played with the cat. He reached down and undid the bindings around her knees. After he was done, he sat back and watched his two girls interacting and enjoying each other. He leaned on the bench back and put his arm around Agnes’s shoulders, massaging them slightly, enjoying the feel of her skin under his hands.

Agnes seemed to take to the cat naturally now. She had lost the palpable sense of fear and was showing a great appreciation for the animal. That pleased him, it was still another interesting twist to this young country girl who seemed to be such a mix of contradictory experiences and perspectives; fascinating.

Finally, Frederick broke into the silence and said that it was getting dark and it would be best for him to return Sheaden to her shed. He told Agnes to gather everything together while he was gone so that when he returned they could go back to the apartment.

“We will get dressed and I will take you out to dinner. It has been a long day, we have been through an ordeal and the weekend is coming. I think we deserve a little celebration.”

Agnes smiled at his suggestion and seemed pleased that the day would continue onto the evening. Frederick was quietly thrilled at the way Agnes responded. As he returned Sheaden to her shed, his thoughts wondered onto just how far he could probably take Agnes. Under the right circumstances, there was probably nothing that she couldn’t do.

From Agnes's perspective

a naughty kiss, or two

2011-03-10T12:05:00.000-08:00

I was telling you, I dreamed of a very naughty kiss
about kneeling over you, on hands and knees
leaning down, covering your mouth
teasing you to rise up for more
rocking to and fro on my knees
(lots of tongue)

. . . dangling kisses

leaning forward, toward your forehead,
enticing your head and lips to follow,
turning my head left, and then right, yours following
then leaning back on my haunches, away from your mouth

sucking and nibbling on your breasts and nipples,
taking them in my teeth and pulling back even further,

and then the dream spins off in two different directions,

1)
turning you over, onto your stomach,
your arms behind you, wrists crossed in the small of your back,
held in place by one of my hands, lifting them,
bending at the elbows

the other hand guiding, and opening your cheeks,
and slowly, deliberately taking you,
with my knees still positioned outside your thighs,
keeping your cheeks, tight and snug,
and then putting my hand on the side of your head,
pushing your face down into the pillows,
leaning forward again, mouth to your ear,
breathing hot air, and hot words, through my fingers,

my feet hooked over the backs of your knees, providing leverage
as I deliberately and steadily pound into you,
mouth to your ear, telling you, how much I love you,
how much I love taking you, how much I love you under me, this way.

and then, another way,

2)
to be saved for another time, another venue . . .
a chance to tell you,
and watch you, how you react,
see you, hear you . . .

Forced Green - Friday Flash Fiction

2011-02-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

Source the internet, title and creator unknown.

Her hair was done in a soft copper tone, page-boy cut, her body was covered in green paint, applied by hand. The application clearly had aroused her. Her swollen breasts, hard tipped nipples and ragged breathing were testament to that. Confusing the scent of her arousal was the overwhelming sweetness of the bird of paradise blossom.

Leaning against her, my mouth to her ear, I buried my hand into her hair, gripping tight. Pushing her head forward and down, her hair flowed around her face and over her forehead, obscuring her face.

I placed the dildo between her thighs, it’s bulbous head hard against her lips, and moved her hand onto it’s base.

In rasping whisper, “Push in, fight it! Exercises your muscles, clench, resist, reject that big green monster.”

She breathed deeply and exclaimed, “Oh God!”

“Resist, push, use the strength of your muscles, block it.”

“I want it, please!”

“No! Test your will and strength. Push back, clench!”

She gasped, “I can’t,” as frustration grew in her.

“Try harder, flex! Keep it out!”

“I can’t stop it.”

“Push! Yes, you can.”

She screamed, “Stop, please!” her body shaking, convulsing, weeping tears.

“There, now you’re ready for your show.”

Click to learn about FFF
Your challenge this Friday, 02-25-2011, is to use the picture above to write a flash fiction
of exactly 200 words and use the phrase in your writing: "...[A FEELING] grew in her..."

I Like Your Dream

2011-02-16T15:30:00.000-08:00

Read a previous dream . . .

She said, "Still feeling sexed up. Want! More! Orgasms! I dreamed, you holding my hands between my legs and moving them for me."

click to play

Storage/player by the Box.net

"I like your dream, perhaps there will be a chance for me to hold you that way tonight, cuddled up between my legs, knees bent, pulled up, leaning your back against my chest, my chin resting on your shoulder, mouth against your ear, whispering, deep slow harsh words, your hands down between your spread legs, my feet tucked inside your ankles, pulling them out and away to open you more . . .

. . . my arms encompassing yours, pressed together, scrunching your breasts together, hard achy nipples being brushed by one hand while the other holds your hands pressed down into your sex, two of your fingers curled and slightly inside you, and two from the other hand on top of those two, pushing them all in more with my hand on top of them both, pushing down deeper between your legs, pushing your knuckles and palm hard against your mound and hood, two of my fingers pushing your four fingers in deeper, all our fingers filling you."

"And each time you get close I will move my second hand down hard on top of my other, and push even harder, moving all of our hands up and down, slightly side to side, as I bite into your neck, just at your shoulders, and clench down my teeth tight in your flesh, holding that bite until your spasms and shaking pass, then move my mouth back to your ear and tell you what a wonderful good girl you are, so hot, and wet, and shaking, and lighten the push against your hands slightly, and brush over your breasts and nipples again, still moving your hands for you, slowly until it builds up once again, until I once again, and again, we get you close so that I will move my second hand down hard on top of my other, and push even harder, moving all of our hands up and down . . . .

. . . and then move my hand to the back of your head, tangling my fingers in your hair and taking a tight grip on a handful, pulling your head back and out to the side toward my shoulder, turning your face toward me, and locking my mouth on top of yours, dancing my tongue over your lips, in through between them, back and forth across them, past your teeth, and against your tongue, mouths full and wide open, consuming each other, and pushing hard, sucking your breath from you, giving it back, pumping you lungs, and holding your hands between your legs and moving them for you, building once again, until you tense up, passionately biting my lip as you cum once again, wanting, yet, more, orgasms!"

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T05:20:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day

(From XKCD)

Frederick - Into the Courtyard

2011-02-06T04:00:00.000-08:00

Continued from Agnes (or here) or both
As they approached the spiral stairway that wound down into the treetops Frederick noticed that some of the trees were beginning to infringe on the walkway. He made a mental note that some pruning would be necessary. Some of the trees were nearly as tall as the roof of the buildings now. It was the first time he had been on the upper balcony in several weeks and the rate of growth surprised him. He would have to speak with Franco and arrange a crew.

As Agnes descended the stairway she had to push branch ends out of her way, and a couple of times they swished back at Frederick. He had to keep his guard and his arms up to prevent getting slapped in the face. To help avoid the branches he moved in closer to the center pole. He really needed to spend some time tending to the courtyard. Agnes was wending her way down slowly and cautiously, not seeming too sure of her footing, she was judiciously clinging to the hand rails.

The bottom of the stairway landed in the midst of a small pond. When Agnes got to the bottom she stopped suddenly and he nearly ran her over. Frederick told her to follow the stepping stones to the right. The stones circled around the stairs and led to the open space of the courtyard. Frederick followed her across the stones and collected her at the edge of the pool.

“This is an absolutely amazing garden Frederick. You are responsible for all of this?”

“Thank you. It has been my pleasure to maintain this garden for a few years now. It was maintained by someone else long ago, but he has passed away. When I moved in it had fallen into disrepair and I made a pact with the owner of my building to let me take over it’s maintenance and development. As I said last night, landscaping is an avocation of mine and this space has been a perfect opportunity for that expression.”

“It is gorgeous; so lush and green, and so mature; like being in a park.”

“It is a surprisingly large space in the center of these buildings. There are many tricks of layering plantings to create depth, and so while it is a big space, it is not as large as it might appear.”

“Well, it is just lovely Frederick; it really is like a small park.”

“Thank you.”

Agnes seemed to falter as she walked, then stopped and turned to Frederick and said, “I am feeling a little dizzy and fuzzy. I think I am a bit overdone from the rich food and alcohol last night and the strong coffee this morning. Would it be all right if I sat down?”

“Of course. Let’s sit down on that bench and we can relax. I will tell you more and you can catch your breath.”

Frederick took her wrist and guided her to a small white iron love-seat style bench. As they settled into their seats, Frederick put his arm across the back of the bench so it was resting across her shoulders. He looked over at Agnes and saw her looking into his eyes, but his gaze seemed to embarrass her. She immediately turned her face down and away. She was a confusion of shy openness. He pulled at her shoulder and she leaned in against his body and buried her head into the crook of his neck. Tentatively, he tangled his fingers in her hair; toying with it, swirling, combing, petting and listened to her soft murmurs in response. She reached over and took his hand up off his knee and held it in hers. She held his fingers across the palm of one hand and rubbed her finger absentmindedly up and down along the back of his index finger. When she lifted her head back up she was smiling.

“I think I am feeling better now and I am really looking forward to a tour of this beautiful garden.”

They got up off of the bench; he took her wrist and guided her along a path. It led out to the middle of a open grassy area in nearly the center of the courtyard. He stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulder. He directed her attention and turned her slightly to the left.

“Over there is the stairway we just came down and the pond we walked across.”

The stairs were visible here and there as they looked up the three stories of the interior of the building but much of it was obscured by three mature trees; one on either side and another that stood between them and the stairway. Just down and to the right of the stairs was the pond they had walked across and further off to the right was the bench where they had rested.

With his hands on her shoulders and her neck, and at times her head, Frederick encouraged Agnes to turn this way and that way as he explained the major features of the foliage and landscaping of the space. He noticed as he spoke how responsive and attuned she was to his touch. At the slightest shift of his hands on her shoulders or move to her neck or head, he felt her muscles respond and she would shift her gaze and posture. He was pleased with the way she moved in response to his touch, guiding her this way or that as they walked. He felt an increasing warmth through her skin.

Suddenly there was a digital chirping sound. Frederick reached into his pocket and answered his phone. He listened, then said, “Yes,” listened more, and then, “Hold on.” He pulled the phone from his head.

“Agnes, I need to take this call, please excuse me a minute. Just relax and enjoy yourself. I will be right back.” He gave her a ‘hold on a moment’ gesture with his finger.

She looked concerned and started to say something but he turned and walked away. He walked off a few meters and stopped and continued the phone conversation. It was a routine business matter, but something that required a timely decision. Frederick listened, nodding his head absently several times, and then said, “Yes. Yes. Tell them we are absolutely committed to finalizing the arrangement. Set a meeting for the five of us at their offices for lunch, Monday. Thank you.” He clicked off the phone, put it back in his pocket and swiveled around to return to Agnes, but she was not there.

Where could she have gone? Frederick looked to the bench, then the pond, then further along the trail they had been following but could not see her anywhere. He walked back to the clearing and looked to the right and then to the left. In the distance, toward the far corner he saw her looking through the bushes, in a cautious but inquisitive way. He called out her name and headed quickly over to her. She had heard him call out and turned around toward him just as he reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. He pulled her away from the bushes she was investigating. He spoke as he hurriedly pulled her along, back to where they had been talking before the phone call.

“I am done with my call now. Let’s continue our tour back over here. I prefer you not go wandering around here on your own.”

“I was just looking at the beautiful flowers over there. It is a nice and sunny spot. The ground cover is spectacular; such brilliant colors.”

“Yes, yes, that is a lovely spot. I understand your curiosity but I do not want you wandering off again.”

With a look of concern on her face, Agnes nodded her head slowly, and looked down, “Yes, I am sorry.”

Frederick looked at her, trying to decide her state of mind, and in a stern voice he said, “It is not enough to be sorry, you need to be careful.”

He let that thought float between them and continued to watch her expression. Eventually she raised her head slightly, and spoke softly and said, “Yes sir.” He was satisfied that she truly understood that this was serious.

He took hold of her chin, lifted her head up and broke the silence. “That spot is lovely, I often eat a picnic lunch there. It is also a nice place to lay back on a blanket and have a nice sunny nap. The brightly colored flowers and their sweet scent can be intoxicating. Perhaps when we finish our walk around we can spread a blanket and have a small lunch.”

He gave her a quick steady smile, put his arm around her and resumed explaining the history and botany of the garden to her. As they meandered he explained that before these buildings were here, this had been an area for livestock and feed stores. And over the years as the neighborhood developed, buildings had been built out around the edges of the yard at street fronts. As the buildings along the streets were built, it left this sizable space “landlocked” inside and behind the buildings. Eventually the buildings completely encircled the yard area and over time it’s purpose changed. The neighborhood became more and more urban, losing it’s rural roots. As he understood it, the families of the building owners had encouraged and supported the people who lived in the buildings in developing this courtyard.

He looked at Agnes and saw that her attention was drifting. He realized that he might be going on a little too much. When they came back around to the open grassy area again Frederick asked if Agnes was hungry and she said she was a little.

Holding out his keys, Frederick said, “I have a couple things to do down here. I want you to go back up to the apartment and make us a light lunch; perhaps a sandwich, some cut up fruit, and a small bottle of wine. There is a basket in the shelves in the kitchen island.”

She seemed frozen by the request, but he could not read the expression any deeper.

“Is that something you can do for us?”

“I think I can, yes, but do you trust me in your apartment on my own? And, and . . . I am not sure what you might have that would make a good lunch.”

“I trust you on both counts Agnes. While I doubt you would go rummaging, you are welcome to see anything and everything in my apartment. And as far as the food goes, feel free to find anything you might enjoy eating and I am sure I will be happy with your choices.”

Agnes smiled at his reassurances, but still seemed to have some doubt, but said, “Okay. I will.”

Frederick stood watching her walk away, enjoying the way her shapely body moved. Even in what he imagined to be an uncomfortable situation she seemed to have an air of confidence and poise. She looked sexy. He continued to watch her as she climbed her way back up the spiral stairway and disappeared into the building.

Frederick was feeling elated by her company and in fact quite aroused, he was finding himself very tempted. He was very pleased with the way their friendship was developing, by her responsiveness to him and he was looking forward to getting much closer.

He shook himself out of his reverie and turned and walked back toward the far corner of the courtyard . . .

(Agnes's reaction)

(Agnes goes to make lunch)

Boudoir - Friday Flash Fiction

2011-01-28T00:01:00.000-08:00

(Photo source unknown)

Surprise
He called home to see if she’d arrived. “I got here a few minutes ago. I’ve decanted the bottle of Malbec you had me pick up. Now I’m sorting the mail.”

“Go to the bedroom, get undressed. I'll be arriving in five minutes.”

“Oh, Yes Sir!”

When he walked in he noticed the scattered stacks of mail. He laughed, evidence of her zeal to comply, what a good girl.

Anxious to savor her beauty, he hurried down the hallway, opening the bedroom door. She was kneeling on the bed in just her panties, bra tossed aside, with the sheet held protectively over her breasts. Her child-like modesty was so charming.

He smiled at her, then turned and opened the closet door, “Look who I’ve invited for your birthday.”

Click for details on FFF

(Your challenge for this Friday is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of
93-129 words, incorporating, the required phrase, "...held protectively...")

Frederick - Friday morning

2011-01-21T19:00:00.000-08:00

Continued from Agnes sleeps over . . .

As they sat on the bed drinking their coffee Frederick moved his hand under the comforter and placed it on the side of Agnes’s leg. Her body shivered as his hand pushed up into the hamstring muscle and then slowly back up toward her knee, applying a lifting pressure that dug into the hollow of the muscle, fingers digging into her hamstring. He repeated that movement again so that his fingertips worked even deeper into the muscle. He moved his hand up to the back of her knee and lifted her leg, turned it across her torso and twisted her to almost a sitting position. He marvelled at her wonderfully strong but lithe legs; trim, healthy, country girl legs.

He offered his hand and pulled her up into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. “Another cup of coffee?” She nodded. He took the cups to the kitchen, refilled them and brought one back to her.

“Go shower.”

She gave him a quizzical look and he repeated himself. “Go shower and I will put out something fresh you to wear. It will be in the bedroom. You will find any toiletries you might need in the bathroom cabinet. ”

While Agnes went in and turned on the water in the shower, Frederick went into one of the bedroom closets and picked out a simple soft cotton shift with 3/4 sleeves, medium short length. He held it up and guessed it would fit well and come to about mid thigh. He nodded his head, smiled, and laid it across the foot of the bed.

He heard the shower running and returned to the kitchen and began preparing something for breakfast. He chopped some nuts and dates, put them in a serving bowl and added raisins. He served up two bowls of cereal, and filled a small pitcher with soy milk. He then peeled and sectioned a couple oranges. He moved everything over to the dining table and set two places.

He moved over to the desk and sat down, checking his morning email. He sent off some instructions to his agents, arranging activities for that day that would effectively clear his calendar. He wanted to be sure he had the entire day to spend with Agnes. He knew he would have to take a few calls but they would be simple status updates and a couple of yes/no decisions he would need to make. He checked to be sure that his phone was plugged in and charging, and that everything was synchronizing.

Just then he heard the bedroom door creak and Agnes stood there on the threshold.

“How does this look?”

She stood there wearing the dress he had put out for her. It was a little longer that he thought it would be but was still well above her knee. She looked all squeaky clean without any make up and wet, flat hair. He was pleased with how the dress fit her, and how she looked.

He got up from his desk, walked across the room to her and gave her a big smile. He put his hand up, his index finger pointed down and twirled it slowly. She turned around to let him see how she looked and he said, “You look very nice, and it fits you quite well. Do you like it?”

She smiled back and nodded. “I think I . . . “ but he put his finger up to his lips, and said, “Shhhhhh.” He decided to test her a little and see how she responded to non-verbal signals.

He picked up a leather and wood hair tie from the kitchen counter and went around behind her. He lifted and pulled her damp hair together, combing it with his fingers. He twisted it into a loose ponytail and wrapped the hair tie to gather it at the base of her neck. Her wet hair fell half way down her back, dampening most of the back of the dress. He then came back around in front of her, tilting his head, raising his eyebrows, begging the question, is that what you were going to ask about? She started to say something but he put his finger to his lips again and she fell silent. She smiled, and put her palms together, held them up in front of herself and bowed slightly.

He took her by the wrist, led her over to the table. He put up his hand in a “stand still” gesture and picked up a length of light rope. He wrapped it twice around her waist and tied it loosely as a sort of belt or draw, "We may need this later." She looked down at the rope, pondering the rope for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders.

He pulled her chair out and seated her. He went and took his seat at the opposite end of the table, and made a gesture with his hands to indicate, help yourself. They ate in silence and he used this quiet time to observe her in a more relaxed natural environ, sitting in a quiet “home” setting and eating a very simple meal. She seemed lost in the moment, not performing for him or trying to impress, but simply being herself. Being stripped of her clothes, in a common ordinary shift dress, no make up, bare feet, she seemed new and fresh and pure.

After he finished eating he got up and went to the refrigerator and took out a water pitcher. He snapped his fingers twice and Agnes turned and looked at him. He held up the pitcher and a glass. She nodded yes, and he brought them each a full glass.

He sat and relaxed, drinking the ice cold water while Agnes finished eating her breakfast. He interrupted the silence momentarily and said, “When we finish breakfast I want to take you down and show you the courtyard we talked about last night.” He looked over at the clock, it was approaching 11:00.

Frederick got up from the table, walked around, picked up Agnes’s water glass and refilled it. He came back and collected Agnes and led her over to the couch where she had fallen asleep the night before. He motioned her to take a seat, put down the water glass, and moved a stack of magazines closer. With a raised hand gesture, he signalled her to remain seated. He turned and walked away, to go brush and shave and comb, and get himself ready for their outing.

In the bathroom he opened the cabinet and found her skirt and blouse and bra on hangers on the back of the cabinet door. He gathered them up, went into the bedroom and hung them in the closet where he had earlier retrieved the dress she was wearing. He also put a wide toothed comb in his pocket.

While he was in the closet he gathered up a couple of long light bandannas and put them around his neck, securing them in place with a simple wooden ring. He also took out a small hunting knife in a sheath with an attached sling that he put over his head and under one arm so it hung at his right side. He pulled his shirt out and over so it lay against his skin, out of sight. He found his lightweight huarache sandals at the foot of the bed, slipped them on and headed back out to the living room.

When he came back into the room he stopped by his desk and looked quickly for any messages. Finding none, he unplugged and pocketed his phone and went over to the sitting area. Agnes was seated on the couch, exactly where he had placed her, reading a magazine. She looked up and smiled as he walked across the room, and adjusted and settled herself as he sat down beside him. She turned to him and started to ask a question, but once again he put his finger to his lips.

He gestured for her to turn her back to him and as she did he removed the leather hair tie and brought out the comb. He spent a few minutes combing out her hair, parting it in the middle, smoothing it back into a new ponytail and reapplied the hair tie, tighter this time, close up to the base of her skull. She sat very still during the whole process but he could hear her making a soft deep humming sound as he worked her hair. When he finished, she turned back to him, smiled, and said, “Thank you very much.” He nodded his head to say, you are welcome, but again, with his finger, admonished her to silence.

As he looked at her he noticed her erect nipples pressing out against the soft material of the dress, and remembered that he had found her bra with her other clothes in the bathroom. He wondered with a wry smile if the arousal was the result of the cold morning air, or if it was in response to his attention and touching, and suspected the later. He looked back up and noticed she was noticing him noticing. He smiled back at her for a few moments, making no excuse or apology and then offered his hand to help her stand up. He led her over to the alcove, and pointed down at her sandals. She slipped them onto her feet and followed Frederick to the front door.

They went down the hallway and past the stairs they had come up the night before, and through a door at the end of the hall. The door opened onto a broad balcony that ringed the inner walls of the building. Looking down over the rail, down two floors was a lush, mature garden, so full of trees and bushes that you could not see the ground through the foliage. Frederick motioned Agnes to the right and they walked toward a spiral stairway that wound down into the treetops.

(Agnes's reaction)

(to be continued)

Jeans Girl - Friday Flash Fiction

2011-01-14T00:01:00.000-08:00

(Source image: "Jeans Girl" by Reinfried Marass. Photo provided by Rozewolf.)

Becky arrived at the diner as the sun was setting. She went in, and I followed a few minutes later. I took a seat at the counter, giving me a perfect view of her in her booth. She smiled, I smiled, she blushed. She’d been my girl until last fall.

While eating her burger and fries, she repeatedly feed quarters into the old Wurlitzer, calling up soulful C/W tunes. She’d sashay across the floor, doing a little two step dance, sexy as hell, flirty as hell too.

When she finished eating, she waved good bye. I waited three minutes, and followed.

I came up behind her as she peered in wondering why the old beast wouldn't start. I wrapped my arms around her, cupping her breasts. I put my mouth against her ear and whispered in a deep gravel voice:

Wild thing, I think you move me
But I wanna know for sure
Come on, let me hold you tight
Come on, come on wild thing,
you make my heart sing.

I leaned forward against Becky’s back, bending her over the fender and reached around for her belt buckle. “Let’s give this relationship a good tuneup.” I tossed the rotor over the windshield into the front seat.

(Use the supplied photo and write a flash fiction of 153-208 words. incorporating the phrase, "...a good tuneup...")

(Click for details on FFF!)

For my birthday I was given the album, The New Bye & Bye: Four New Songs Plus the Best Of the Train Wreck Years, by Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriguez. Driving to work I was listening to Wild Thing, which was written by Chip Taylor, and originally recorded in 1965 (a year before The Troggs). This rendition is particularly funky and guttural, and it invaded my thoughts as I was imagining the finishing touches of this story.
The album is a great collaboration and plays a lot like a jam session, very lightly produced. The whole album is a fine example of good ole Texas country music, check it out.

Frederick - at Home

2011-01-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

Continued from the Nightcap . . .

It was a quiet and dreamy walk from the bar to his apartment. Agnes was hanging onto his arm and leaned against his shoulder, and he was unable to walk at his customary pace. It irritated him a bit but he realized she was probably a little tipsy and lost in her own thoughts to be hurried along. She had clearly been dazzled by the time in the bar, the brandy and the people, the music and the goings on; it was obviously something very new and different for her. Truth be told he was a little over tired and full of the effects of drink himself. He was delighted to have had the opportunity to expose her to a yet another aspect of her new life here in Paris. It was something he intended to continue.

Fortunately, his apartment was only a couple blocks away and took just minutes to reach. When they turned into the building, he slowly followed her up the stairs. He became transfixed with the view of her back side and legs moving slowly up the flights of stairs. When she had been at his apartment the last time he had enjoying the look of her trim ankles, the shape of her calves, and musculature of the backs of her thighs, but this time she had worn an even shorter skirt. He was pleasantly surprised to notice the bikini style panties she was wearing. For some reason he had imagined she would wear much more modest full briefs.

Suddenly they were at the top of the stairs and he nearly ran her over as she stopped, indecisive about where to go. He told her to turn left and follow the hallway, which she did, but she turned down the hallway and walked right out the hallway door onto the balcony, completely missing the apartment door. He reached out and took her arm and pulled her back into the hallway and opened the door to the apartment and led her in. He closed and locked the door, and took her sweater, hanging it on the coat tree.

“Would you like some hot cocoa?” She said she would like that, but that she really needed to use the bathroom. He showed her where it was and turned on the light for her. She closed the door and he went to the kitchen area and busied himself with preparing the milk for the cocoa, getting out the cups and took down a small tray for some chocolates. He hoped that now that they were settled in his apartment she would regain her composure and not be so flighty.

After he had started the milk and gathered the plates and cups he realized she was still in the bathroom and wondered if she had fallen asleep. He leaned in through the doorway to his bedroom and noticed that the attached door to the bath that he always kept shut was ajar. He grinned to himself, imagining that she had seen the other door, peeked through and realized it led into his bedroom. He wondered what was taking her so long.

He returned to check on the milk and just then she came out of the bathroom and asked if she might help? “No, just make yourself comfortable,” and he gestured to the sitting area by the picture window. She walked over and stood in front of the window, looking out at the view of the city. After a couple minutes he noticed she had sat down at the end of one of the couches and was looking over the magazines and books on the table in front of her.

“You have a lot of architectural magazines here, and landscaping gazettes as well. I thought you had said you worked with financial matters?”

“Yes, I do, but landscaping and how it fits with architecture has always been an interest of mine. Tomorrow, or another day, I will show you the courtyard. I have made a deal with the landlord and I have done a complete landscape design. It is a wonderfully vibrant and luscious space, if I do say so myself. I know you will enjoy it.”

“I will look forward to that very much Frederick. You continue to amaze me.”

As he had the preparations underway he walked to the desk on the wall next to the window and tapped out some instructions on a computer. She asked what he was doing but he dismissed her question with an off handed remark about checking some market points. He moved from the desk and sat directly across from her on the opposite couch.

As he settled into his seat he again noticed how short her skirt was, how it had ridden up her legs as she sat on the couch, and his attention was once again drawn to her lovely legs. He noticed her relaxed posture as she leaned forward to look at the magazines, probably not realizing how revealing her posture was, giving him a view of most of her thighs and glimpses through the opening at the front of her blouse. She was a wonderfully attractive young girl, a simple but charming and pretty girl.

She asked, “Is there something wrong?” “No, not at all.“ he said. He realizing he had indeed been staring and she’d ‘caught’ him off guard, appreciating her body and ruminating in his thoughts. Covering up his embarrassment, he said, “The milk is ready. Would you like some chocolates and a little brandy as well?”

He did not wait for an answer as he got up and went to the kitchen and made the cocoa. He retrieved the chocolates and puts them on the tray. He brought the serving platter to the table, placed it between them and returned to his seat across the table. He moved a cup of cocoa in front of her and set a small snifter of brandy down next to it. He pointed out the platter of chocolate, “Help yourself.” As she was blowing and sipping at the hot cocoa, he again found himself staring at her, and looking her over very thoroughly, liking her demure personality.

He pulled his attention away reluctantly and made a comment about the view out the window. She looked out also, and he launched into an exposition of some of the special sites that could be seen from just where they sat. He demonstrated his awareness and knowledge of architecture, commenting on the different styles and periods of a number of the buildings he was pointing out.

Realizing that his cup was empty, he collected the two mugs to go pour more cocoa. Just as he got up, there was a beeping sound from the computer on the desk. He stopped at the desk and attended to the computer for a couple minutes before heading to the kitchen. When he returned with the cups he saw that Agnes has dozed off. He spoke to her and she stirred herself awake and took the mug. They continued talking about Paris as he explored what she had and had not seen or done so far.

After a few minutes, there was signalling from the computer and he excused himself. When he returned, Agnes had fallen asleep on the couch again, leaning herself against the wingback and armrest. He went and retrieved a couple of pillows and a comforter. He repositioned her so she was laying down more naturally and covered her. He sat back down and sipped on his brandy and watched her sleep for a while. He watched her slow deep breathing as her chest heaved and sighed. She made soft noises, nearly snoring. Frederick was glad she was comfortable with him enough to have spent the evening and to now be sleeping so well on his couch. He pondered where he was going to go with this girl that he found so appealing.

He continued looked out the window over the city, and eventually went and cleaned up from the cocoa and treats, and put everything away. When he came back and checked on Agnes, she was still soundly asleep and he decided to lay down and sleep himself. Rather than undressing and going to bed, he stretched out on the day bed in the alcove where he could keep an eye on her and look out the window into the dark night. Nearly immediately, he drifted off to sleep.

He awoke to the soft light of dawn and he found himself partially covered with the comforter he'd given to Agnes. He realized she was curled up next to him, with her head on his shoulder. Her presence next to him made him smile. It felt good and he was pleased things seemed to be advancing well. He adjusted the comforter over the both of them and drifted off back to sleep again.

When he woke up again, she was still cuddled up next to him, sleeping soundly. He looked at the clock and seeing it was 7:30, extricated himself and got up. As he started his morning routine he realized it was Friday and wondered if Agnes was supposed to be working. He looked at the time again and as it was not yet 8:00 AM, he decided there was still a little time before he needed to make a decision. His mind waffled between being responsible and a desire to keep her around for the day and enjoy her company further.

He put on a pot of coffee and went and changed out of his slacks and shirt from the night before into a pair of light linen pants and a long sleeved cotton pull over. As the coffee was finishing, he stepped out onto the balcony to relish the fresh crisp morning air, hoping it would help clear his brandy addled brain a little. As he stood savoring the fresh air of the morning mixed with the scent of coffee brewing he heard the sounds of the springs of the bed in the alcove. He stepped in and saw that Agnes was not awake yet, but had tossed and turned onto her side facing the edge of the bed. He looked at the clock and decided it was time to wake her.

He filled two cups and brought them into the alcove and set them on the side table. He seated himself on the side of the bed. The movement of his weight seemed to awaken Agnes a bit, she stirred and moved herself to the edge of the bed. She wrapped her arms around his knee and thigh, pulling herself in tight against his leg. He reached up and pushed her hair back off her face, put his hand on her cheek, and said, “Good morning.” She simply smiled back at him, nuzzling her cheek into the palm of his hand.

“I assume you are supposed to work today; it is Friday. I will bring the phone so you can call the shop and let them know you are not going to be in to work today. It is 8:30 now, what time should you call?”

“I do not work until 10 o’clock and so any time soon will be fine, but what am I going to tell them, I am not ill and have no excuse?”

“Tell them you have a day of instruction ahead, and will be back fresh and renewed on Monday. Or, tell them you have been kidnapped and are being held captive by a benevolent friend, or fiend. I am sure they will not make much of a fuss, they know you are a reliable and diligent girl. It is just that you will spend the day under my guidance and I will test your diligence.” He noticed the quizzical look on her face and wondered if she had any idea what he might have in store for her, surely not.

He went and got the phone, and Agnes took a big drink of the coffee. He handed her the phone and sat back down. She repositioned herself back against the side of his leg and dialed the phone. She had a brief conversation excusing herself from work. She assured the photographer that she was fine, just not feeling up to par and should be back at work the next day. She thanked him for his understanding and clicked off of the call.

She looked up at Frederick, “Okay.”

He smiled down at her, took the phone and set it on the side table. As they sipped at their coffee he moved his hand under the comforter and placed it on the side of Agnes’s leg, then moved it a little ways up the back of her thigh.

Frederick wondered how Agnes was feeling this morning . . .

First Winter's Kiss - Friday Flash Fiction

2010-12-31T00:01:00.000-08:00

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
Advizor
Kenny
Lusting Lola

Naughty Lexi
Panser
Rozewolf
Scintillectually Yours
William

Christmas Eve - Friday Flash Fiction

2010-12-24T00:01:00.000-08:00

(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

Advizor

Naughty Lexi

Panser

Scintillectually Yours
William

Frederick - Dinner

2010-12-17T17:00:00.000-08:00

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?”

“Definitely.”

“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 . . .

King Sol - Friday Flash Fiction

2010-12-10T00:01:00.000-08:00

(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...")

FFF Friends/Offerings

Year Three

2010-12-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

"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

Always Remember - Flash Fiction Friday

2010-12-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

(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...")

(Click for details on FFF!)

FFF Friends/Offerings

Frederick

2010-11-29T19:00:00.000-08:00

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?"

"Agnes."

"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?"

The Hallway - Flash Fiction Friday

2010-11-19T00:01:00.000-08:00

(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...")

FFF Friends/Offerings

Tentacle Sex "Tentacle Dreams"

2010-11-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

"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.

Sometimes . . .

2010-11-03T15:00:00.000-07:00

. . . 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.

e[lust] edition # 21

2010-10-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

Important e[lust] update: e[lust] will be going on hiatus for the holidays. The editions for November and December would both occur around the holidays and I know I'll be short on both submissions and judges as well as personal time. e[lust] #22 will return in January, with ample advance warning, so please make sure you're subscribed for updates!

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

D/s Without the D/s? - This is one of those situations in a real time D/s relationship where much of the “fun” aspects of the D/s needs to be stuffed in the closet for a bit. And for us, it’s not a great time to be either a masochist or a sadist. We can deal with that.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Yes, Jelly Sex Toys Can be Dangerous - Even if a jelly rubber toy says “phthalate-free”, it still can contain toxic chemicals that can cause skin reactions in some people. These toys are still non-porous and can harbor dirt and bacteria because they cannot be sanitized.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Unfortunately, this edition has no Top Three picks as I didn't have enough volunteer judges. If you'd like to volunteer to help, visit this page to find out more info and ensure that the Top Three picks continue.

See also: Pleasurists #101 and #100 for all your sex toy review needs.

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

Passive vs. Active Submission

2010-10-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Addendum
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?

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

2010-10-03T08:10:00.000-07:00

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

Timeless in a Window's Light

2010-09-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

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.

There Are No Words . . .

2010-09-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

Close Enough

2010-08-30T01:18:00.000-07:00

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.

More (and then)

2010-08-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

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."

(and more)

2010-08-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Impossibly Close

2010-07-30T15:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Pinned Down, and positioned

2010-07-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

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 . . .

A Submissive Test?

2010-07-07T20:40:00.000-07:00

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:

Submissive Test

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?

Take You For a Ride in My Car-Car

2010-07-04T04:29:00.000-07:00

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?

Thoughts about Rules

2010-07-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

Recently persephone/meg wrote at length about a new rule regarding Stray Hairs, (or spair hair). I can certainly sympathize with her regarding the unmanageable stray hairs, because I prefer girls with longer rather than shorter hair. But I also empathize with Luke regarding the mess that results, and concur with the imposition of a related rule.

But my point here is really about something meg said in the comment section in response to one of her readers, and has nothing to do with hair, but rather rules. I think it bears repeating out in the open rather than being buried in a comment. Not everyone will agree with this, but I, and many I know, think that rules should be fun.

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!"

The Key to Making a Successful Blog

2010-06-25T19:16:00.000-07:00

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 xkcd.com

Poll results = blog list - 10%; wisdom - 35%; stories - 40%, recordings - 5%; cmnf pictures - 10%

On the Bed, then Sleeping

2010-06-07T06:01:00.000-07:00

The Consensual Stalker

"Take away my sight please, then I can focus on feeling you . . ."

part 1 - - part 2

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 . . .

On a Bed, Sleeping

2010-05-21T16:15:00.000-07:00

The Consensual Stalker

part 1

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 . . .

In a Bedroom, Sleeping

2010-05-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Consensual Stalker

first -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. There was the bathroom door off to the right, and on the opposite wall, the closet door, and in between a large armoire that held some folded clothes and a television set. He thought, what an interesting place to conceal a small camera. And on the wall opposite, there was a queen size bed, with a nightstand on either side, each with a lamp, and one with a clock that shines the time in a circle on the ceiling:

12:55 A

Sunday

He looked at his watch, and noticed a difference, pulled out the stem and adjusted it to 12:57, centered the second hand at zero, and waited for 12:57 to appear on the ceiling, then pushed the stem back in; there, perfect.

He got up and walked over to the bed, and looked at the items on the far night stand, just the lamp, the clock, a couple of magazines and a paperback book. On the near night stand was the matching lamp, a cell phone, a glass of water and a prescription bottle. He picked up the bottle and read the label, Dalmane, Take as needed for sleep.

She was sound asleep, making a soft slow breathing sound, not quite a snore. She laid flat face down, arms wrapped around her pillow, head resting on her left cheek, her hair spread across her cheek, her forehead, her neck and shoulders. Her right leg was pulled up and out, bent at the knee. She was wearing a pair of bikini panties, nothing else. He put his hand on the headboard, and leaned over looking down at her, she seemed to have the slightest smile on her face, but was definitely deep in sleep.

With his free hand he began to ever so lightly trace one fingertip across her shoulders, and down across her biceps, over her elbow and down her forearm to her wrist. Then he ran the fingertip slowly back up her arm, across her shoulders and down the other arm. She did not stir or seem to sense his touch in any way. He wondered if she was that sound a sleeper, or if the sleeping pill had dulled her senses. He ran his fingertip back up her arm, to her shoulders and ran it up and down her neck, at the back first, then up the sides and back, and still there was no reaction.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he put two fingers at the base of her neck, and begin tracing then down either side of her backbone, circling it, over, back and forth, and then down to the next bone, pressing ever so slightly, a tender teasing touch. He continued working down each vertebrae, down to the curve of the small of her back, and then back up the rising slope toward her buttocks, lightly massaging her skin, up and down and then back up, an inch or so at a time. When he reached the waist band of her panties, he turned his hand and pushed the fingers under the waistband spreading her cheeks apart just slightly as his fingers slide deeper and deeper into the cleft. The waistband slipped up his fingers and onto the back of his hand, and he stopped. With his fingers resting between her cheeks, he suddenly considered how much he had touched her, with absolutely no response, what so ever.

He stopped and was very still for a moment, not moving his hand, listening for her breathing. It was still soft and steady, calm and nearly that same soft snoring sound. He slowly began to reverse his movement and trace his two fingers back up her spine, back toward her neck. When his fingers reached the base of her neck, he massaged her neck at her hairline, up the sides and back down to her shoulders, still, no reaction. He lifted his hand off of her skin and just sat, looking at her back heave and settle slowly as she slept, undisturbed. He was tempted to jostle her and awaken her, but decided better of it, thinking that he ought to leave soon.

He looked over her body, so lovely and calm, so relaxed in her sleep. His gaze went to the back of the thigh of her bent leg, and that spot where her buttock turned to her thigh. 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, it aroused him to touch her so intimately. He thought better of it, removed his hand, and stood up, looking up and down the length of her lovely nearly naked body, her smooth skin and her well toned muscles.

He moved back to the headboard, braced himself and leaned over again, and looked down at her face, she still had that same partial smile, partially covered by her tousled hair. With the fingers of his free hand he gently combed her hair back, off of her face, up over the side of her head and tucked as much as he could behind the back of her ear. He could now clearly see her face and the side of her neck. He walked over to his jacket, reached into the pocket and took out the length of ribbon he had brought with him. He returned to the side of the bed, combed more of her hair back into the semblance of pony tail, and tied the ribbon around the gathered strands of hair, and then fashioned a bow.

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.
. . . continued . . .

Bring Your Stalker to Work Day

2010-04-22T07:01:00.000-07:00

The Consensual Stalker

"Designed to be more than a day camp, the Bring Your Stalker to Work Day program goes beyond the average “shadow” an adult. This will provide your stalker an opportunity to share how they envision your future and begin steps toward their end goals. We have designed the day in a hands-on and interactive manner that’s key to their achieving success. Each year, development of new interactive activities assists us in taking stalkers to the future they dream of."

I had followed her to work on several occasions, and was now familiar with her morning routine. She would pull into the parking garage, emerge and walk several blocks to the office building, and board the elevator. A very consistent routine, little variation in time or pattern. Most mornings she would talk on the phone and/or send text messages, juggling books and folders, and a purse and tote bag. For the past couple days I had boarded the elevator with her and selected the top floor, noting which floor was hers when she left the elevator.

I rode up two floors further, got off the elevator and took the stairs two flights down. I surveyed the hallways and corridors, and peeked into office areas where doors were open or ajar, and finally found her. I noted that her office space was a small odd shaped room and appeared to contain just two desks, hers off to the right, and a older man was at the desk to the left. One whole wall of the office was outside windows, but the door was solid, with no glass security panel. Once the door was closed, there was no way for intruders or visitors to see if any one was in. I had noticed that the older man seemed to be away from the office this week. Today would be different . . .
.

Today I watched her arrive at work and head into her building. I waited about ten minutes and boarded the elevator, went one extra floor up, walked back down one flight and down the corridor. As usual, the door was open and slightly ajar. I glanced through the opening and saw her busying herself with her computer, putting on headphones, swaying to some music and sipping a cup of coffee. I pushed the door open just slightly more . . . the door moved about a foot, with no noise, or apparent commotion. As I looked around the edge, she seemed oblivious to the movement, so I slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open, up against the cabinet behind it, and stepped back just to be sure.

After a few moments, I stepped into the doorway, paused, and them stepped into the room. No reaction, so I quietly swung the door closed and stepped up behind her, still nothing. I moved slightly to the right when she swung her chair to the left to open a drawer, but still there was no recognition of any presence in the room, or directly behind her. As she settled back to her workstation she seemed to catch a reflection in the window or her computer screen, I knelt down on one knee behind her and her chair as she glanced around, and then shrugged.
.

I stood back up, leaned forward, and simultaneously pulled her glasses and headphones off with one hand and placed the other hand over her eyes. Then I quickly moved the first hand, covered her mouth, and whispered into her ear, "It is me, just relax." I held her as stationary as possible as she struggled, until the glow of recognition settled over her. Even as she struggled I moved my hand from her mouth, onto her throat, up under her chin, tilted her head back and placed my mouth over hers. I held the kiss, long, longer, I had forgotten how wonderfully soft and warm and pliable her lips were, how her kiss felt and the way she moved, both her jaw and her tongue. I lifted momentarily and repositioned my mouth onto hers again, and savored the sound of her breathing through her nostrils and the swelling of her breasts as she struggled for air. I lifted my mouth slightly so we could both breath through the corners of our mouths without ending this prolonged kiss.

Even as I sucked air out of her lungs, pumped it back in, I was drawn to the pulse of her breathing through the expansion and contraction of her chest, and the swelling of her wonderfully full breasts. I was captivated by the sight of her hardening nipples, pressing through her shirt and sweater, and presumably even her bra beneath them. I reached down and took a grip on one nipple through all of that clothing and pinched tightly, and felt her gasp for air, nearly sucking my breath right out of my mouth this time. I continued to twist and pull, and elicited the most wonderful, guttural groan from deep in her throat, followed by a soft humming sound. I moved my hand and tore open the top two buttons of her shirt so that the opening matched the contour of her v-neck sweater.
.
As I placed my palm on her upper chest I could feel her warm skin, and her breathing, and as my hand slid inside her shirt, I could feel her heart beating and her long deep breaths. Once again heard that guttural growl, and I detected a slight chuckle, and her mouth was moving as if she were trying to say something. I shoved my hand down inside her shirt, into the cup of her bra, forcing my fingers across her flesh, and took a solid grip on her right breast, pinching and mashing, squeezing and massaging roughly. She squirmed and wiggled in her chair, not trying to escape so much as adjust to the excitement and arousal my continued groping of her breast was provoking.

I lifted my mouth from hers, trailing my tongue across hers, teasing her lips. I continued to hold my hand over her eyes, pulled my hand out of her bra, and said, "Reach down and release the ergo-control so that the back of the chair tilts back."

"What?" she said.

"Release the chair backrest."

She nodded her understanding, and dropped her arms down between the armrests and the seat cushion, and fumbled with the control levers. Suddenly she found the right paddle and the seat back dropped to a 45 degree angle, startling us both. "Close your eyes, tight." She did. I leaned back down and kissed her forehead, her temples, her closed eyes, the sides of her nose, one cheek and then the other, then one last time, her mouth, a slow, tender, full lip kiss.

Now she was laid out with her head fully back, tilted over the edge of the seat back, almost dangling back. My thumb on her chin pushed her lower jaw down and my palm pressed her forehead down and back, forcing her mouth open further. Her body stiffened as she heard the sound of my zipper, and I stepped forward . . .

and then, at her home . . .

Moving with Force

2010-04-19T15:31:00.000-07:00

Read enough blogs, documenting relationships ranging from the most extreme M/s owners, to the sweetest Daddy/little girl connections, and you begin to see the wide range of methods and techniques used to move things along, particularly the degree of influence imparted by the dominant member of the relationship. This is particularly true of training techniques but in many instances actually apply to the entire conduct of the relationship, influencing the entire interaction. It becomes apparent when something goes wrong, when things are off track and corrective action needs to be taken.

The previous post, force, was an attempt to put the idea out there and clarify my thinking, and engage with a few readers from their reaction to that small offering. It came to me during this process that control = force. I had always thought of force as a S&M practice, and overlooked the subtle but effective use of force in all methods of control. The concept of force runs the gambit of techniques employed: force, enforce, reinforce and reinforcement, each an exertion of the dominants will and dominion, over the behavior of the submissive but with radically varying degrees of application. I think a large degree of that is implied by the kind of connection that is present between the parties involved. It is also clear that some aspects of all four categorizations are likely employed at one time or another in nearly all relationships.

Force:
a powerful effect or influence; to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, coerce.
I think the strictest Master/slave relationship involves the potential for the greater degree of pure force - a powerful effect or influence; where the Master is likely to cause things to be done through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, by applying coercion.

This may well include the routine application of moving a girl along, literally, physically, by grabbing hands full of her hair or tightly gripping her collar and literally dragging her to where she needs to go. It may likely not involve any degree of intellectual instruction at all, but rather just the absolute application of physical force. Even routinely grabbing her and pulling her along, come this way, follow along, and she will, because she is yours, and trusts you or fears you. So, you could MAKE the sub do something through force.

This might include prolonged restraint, caging, physical restrictions, and whippings and beating, real and earnest applications of force.

Enforce:
ensure observance of rules; compel to behave in a certain way - to keep up, impose or bring into effect something, not necessarily by force.
When you talk about how your girl might feel about being restricted, and she thinks the control might be interesting, "really like the idea of somehow being controlled."

You set rules for her, that provide direction and guidance but at other times she has to walk the path, with you right behind her, offering words of encouragement, or correction or perspective, "if you do this or that, here is what will happen". Or, provide a good environment in which she can do something that one time, and then enforce the repetition of the behavior.

Consider the idea of a control that insists, rather than restricts? So many times, we Doms/Tops implement directives that take away something desired, but what about the idea of requiring something that is not a burning desire? An example might be orgasm control, which is often exercised as orgasm denial or limitation, but can also be a rule that insists on orgasms.

This might occasionally blend in some of the rougher, dragging approach, with an ebb and flow, harsh, aggressive at times, friendly, slow and smooth at other times.

Reinforce:
to strengthen, especially by addition or augmentation; to emphasize or review; to encourage a behavior or idea through repeated stimulus.
There are times when the dominant backs off, giving a certain degree of slack to see how well the lesson has been learned. But he may still be nudging with a slight tap or push for the left or the right, correcting the course, needing to watch, pay attention, but not always intervening, teach her the way for herself, with guidance. This involves observing behavior, and reinforcing the positive actions while criticizing but not necessarily punishing the missteps. Ultimately, submission is what the girl gives, not what the dominant takes.

Reinforcement:
a process in which a behavior is strengthened; increasing the probability that a response will occur by either presenting a contingent positive event or removing a negative event.
Where do you want to go? What do you want to change? How can my guidance, dominance, and reinforcement be applied to your life in such a way that you accomplish your goals, and then set about to do it, with subtle and not so subtle reminders, go do it "now".

Some times you might even let go so fully that she doesn't even feel the control any more, or in fact she feels the absence of the control, the looseness, at odds, at wits end. Once having had the comfort and safety and assurance of guidance and control, what does it feel like to have that taken away, quite nearly the complete opposite of force, the complete removal of influence, other than presence, reinforcement of the feeling and idea of control rather than cranking down the control.

Or it might include setting up ongoing situations where doing that thing brings her peace and contentment and rather than feeling forced, she feels embraced and wants to do it of her own volition and to please. This kind of commitment to purpose is at the heart of submission, it is not compliance by force, but simply reinforcement of her dedication to purpose. It might also include companioning, guiding her along as she deals with an issue. Or, slowly and methodically moving her forward, clearing the path of obstacles, hers and the worlds, like curling?

It is always interesting to read blogs and see what kinds of force are employed, or not to correct misbehavior or a failure to follow rules. It is just as common to read about overly lax responses as it is to read about overly forceful actions.

Bedtime Baby

2010-04-13T12:01:00.000-07:00

You, sitting at the foot of the bed, knees bent over the edge, legs apart.

Me, standing with my shins against the end of the bed, between your thighs, combing my hands and fingers through your hair, savoring the view of your wonderful body.

You, squeezing your thighs hard against the outside of my legs, holding them, caressing me, rubbing the veined underside, watching it grow and stiffen, licking your lips.

Me, holding your head and tilting it back, straining your neck, kissing your forehead, temples, eyebrows, eyes, left side of your nose, right side, back and forth from one cheek to the other, then fully over your mouth, tender, slow, firm lip kisses.

You, moaning, humming, smiling, leaning your head back, pulling away from my kiss, pulling your head from side to side, sneaking down under my chin to look at the handiwork of your hands. Grasping me, guiding me up to your mouth, teasing between your lips, running your tongue along the underside.

Me, pulling your head closer, moving slowly in and out, rubbing against the insides of your mouth, moving my hands to your jaw, pushing it down to reduce the tightness, opening your mouth more, encouraging you to moisten, lick and coat me with your saliva.

You, looking up into my eyes, looking down over you. Cupping your hands under your breasts, lifting them up, offering them, squeezing them together, wrapping them around me, all wet from your mouth, and so hard.

Me, grasping a nipple in each hand, pulling, twisting, lifting, pinching. Stepping back and kneeling down at the edge of the bed, fronts of my thighs up against the end of the mattress, resting on the surface of the mattress. Wrapping my hands around the small of your back and pulling you forward, moving your bottom forward up the edge of the bed.

You, grasping hold of me and guiding me into you, wet, slick, as you are pulled closer and closer, opening your legs wider to accept my hips more comfortably between your thighs.

Me, taking hold of your wrists and leaning, guiding you back, pushing you to lay down flat on the bed. Pushing your arms down against the mattress and pulling you harder toward me, slipping deeper inside, my upward curve tickling that hot inner spot.

You, rocking back and forth with the pull and push of my hands on your wrists, working your muscles, massaging me inside you, bringing me closer and closer. Sweating, huffing, deep breathing, humming.

Me, releasing your wrists and guiding your hands down in between us, encouraging your fingers to dance and play with your swollen button, pushing them down deeper and deeper. Hands tight on your hips, pulling your closer and closer, shoving deeper and deeper. Legs clenched, solid stiff, releasing into you. collapsing forward down on top of you, kissing your breasts.

You, shaking, stiffening, clenching, hands deep down, hips rising, pushing up, shaping our angles. Fingers buried in my hair, gripping and caressing.

Us, coming together, right now.

force

2010-03-22T00:24:00.000-07:00

force - a powerful effect or influence; to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, coerce.

enforce - ensure observance of rules; compel to behave in a certain way - to keep up, impose or bring into effect something, not necessarily by force.

reinforce - to strengthen, especially by addition or augmentation; to emphasize or review; to encourage a behavior or idea through repeated stimulus.

reinforcement - a process in which a behavior is strengthened; increasing the probability that a response will occur by either presenting a contingent positive event or removing a negative event.

a premise . . . continued . . .

The Second Meeting

2010-02-15T00:21:00.000-08:00

Sitting in the calm and quiet, I recalled that first meeting. I arrived early, walked around the lobby, familiarizing myself with the layout of the space. I decided to settle in a big chair in a conversation nook opposite the front desk where I could see the elevator foyer and catch her as she came out. For our first meeting, when she arrived I'd gotten up, and walked in stride beside her, holding her hand and smiling down at her.

Now, all this time later, we would be meeting again, but this time it would not be some uncertain, clandestine tete-a-tete in a vacant foyer or abandoned conference room. I knew her much better now, knew well her secret fears, fantasies and desires.

This time I sat in another big overstuffed chair, in a more private, and secluded conversation nook that was away from the front desk and separated from the usual flow of traffic of the lobby by partitions, large potted palms and fichus trees. This time, that fleeting fantasy I had pushed off my lap and brushed aside would be the fulfillment of the fantasies of a thousand days.

And then, I saw her walk out of the elevators, looking around for a point of reference, and saw a faint smile on her face as she recognized the location of our planned meeting place. She strode purposefully toward the entrance to the conversation nook, around the fichus trees, past the partitions and there she was, standing proudly in the entry way to this small quiet space, off the corner of lobby, a private little alcove.

As she walked across the open space toward my chair, I marveled at the dress, the same dress she had worn so well the last time. Now in a different configuration, more casual, more revealing, and oh so much more provocative. Or, perhaps it was the familiarity that has grown over all this time. My face lit up hearing her stride across the open space in heels that clicked and clacked on the tile, tall and sexy and confident, and once again, mine.

She stepped up to me, took hold of my outstretched hands, and I held her, maintaining her balance as she placed one knee outside of my left thigh near the arm of the chair. Then she swung her other leg across my lap and slid that knee between the chair arm and my other thigh, and settled back.

She settled her weight on my knees, and smiled, and sighed, and said softly, "Hello, my sir." She then slid down my thighs, closer to me, her knees slipped deeper into the cushions, alongside my hips. I took hold of the hem of the dress and spread it out and around, over my lap, the back down over my knees, and the sides down to the cushions of the chair.

I looked up into her smiling eyes, as I placed my hands on her hips. I slid them up the outsides of her waist, and bunched up the material of the dress in my hands so it was taut across her stomach and back, and pulled her up toward me. As she rose up and got her weight onto her knees, she supported herself with her hands on my shoulders. I moved my hands to the small of her back, still holding the material of her dress and toyed with the waist band of her panties.

I could read the anticipation in her eyes as I stretched, and pulled and bothered at the waist band, not yet pulling it up, but teasing her with the possibility. Her grip on my shoulders tightened, she leaned forward, I tilted my head to the side, and I wrapped by arms around her back and pulled her down until her lips met mine.

I moved my right hand to the back of her head. I tangled my fingers in her hair and took a tight grip on a handful. I pulling her head back and out to the side toward my shoulder, and straightened my head up. I turned her face toward me, and locking my mouth on top of hers. My tongue danced over her lips, through in between them, back and forth across them, past her teeth, and against her tongue, both of our mouths full and wide open, consuming each other, and pushing hard, sucking her breath from her, giving it back, pumping her lungs.

We continued to hold this long awaited second kiss as she moved her legs even further down into the cushions and settled her bottom further down onto my lap. I could feel the heat of her thighs pressing against mine as we got closer and closer together. I helped her move as we continued the kiss, pulling her down and forward with my hands in the small of her back/hips.

When she was settled as deeply into the cushions and my lap as she could be, I moved my hands to the sides of her waist and slowly worked them up along her ribs and around her torso until my thumbs were pressing through her dress against her nipples. I applied steady pressure on them, folding them over and up as they stiffened more and more. I could track her arousal by the depth and length of the breaths she was taking through both her nostrils and the corners of her mouth.

Then suddenly she broke the kiss and looked down at my hands as they moved more fully onto her breasts and continued their assault on her now rock hard nipples. I saw a sly grin on her face as her hands reached down between us and began pulling aggressively at the button to my slacks, and then the zipper. As she fumbled to release me from the confines of my slacks, I reached up under her dress and found the leg band of her tiny little bikinis. I worked my hand inside the leg and slowly rubbed, and opened her with my fingers, savoring the joy of her warmth and wetness.

When she finally freed me from my slacks, and held me upright, I guided her toward me, and I moved my hips forward, steering her down onto me. She slowly slid down around me, and rotated her hips, side to side, and circling. I moved my hands to her hips to further control her, helping her balance as she gyrated and rode me.

She settled into a rhythmic gyration, taking me in deeper and deeper, I arched my back, leaning as deeply into the back of the chair as I could, looking up at her. I can see, and feel, her working up toward her climax. She became more deliberate, and steady, and as she peaked, and I took my right hand off of her hip. As her body stiffened and started to shake, I placed my right hand up under her chin, thumb on one side of her neck and fingers on the other, pushing up and back, and applied steady pressure.

She looked at me with questioning and worry in her eyes. I smile back at her, and mouthed the words, "It is okay, relax." I put my other hand on the back of her head. Then, even as her body was still shaking, and her hips moving, her eyes rolled shut and she collapsed forward into my grasp. I guided her torso down against my chest, and I placed her head on my shoulder, and she was completely still . . .

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-12T00:01:00.000-08:00

Well, I don't really get it, except to say that love has no logic.

Even the identity matrix doesn't work normally

xkcd - A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language.

e[lust] edition #5

2010-01-12T09:45:00.001-08:00

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers!

♦ This Week's Top Three Posts ♦

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter - I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots' lounge.

The Condom Question. Confession #397 - Luckily, this time I had my wits about me enough to reply with a categorical, Yes a condom . . .

No more... - "I'm so sorry, I can't...". Words, words, so many words... reasons and reasoning and things and stuff and none of it made sense . . .