Before I left to return to Ivy University, Penthouse gave me a little spanking. It was fun, playful, a little silly.

Thus, my visit to Penthouse land saga ends. Over a month after it happened. But you can’t fault me for taking my time with it.

But, now I’m stuck playing catchup on some hot stuff that’s happened in October and November that I’d like to write about for the dual purpose of this blog being the only semblance of a journal I can keep and because writing erotica for me is hot and fun.

So, yeah. Hope you enjoyed the details of my trip. There’s more fun to come.

heretoenjoy:

Sometimes, play can be playful! Go figure! 🙂

happybdsm:

Daddy makes me laugh, even while he’s paddling my butt.. <3

(Submission via myheadisfullofflames)

Penis baby sends you get well wishes!!

(submitted by myanonymouslair.)

—

Oh my God, I literally saw this and shrieked.

Ms. Lair officially made my inbox the scariest place on the planet.

People who know me tend to equate me with strength. Which I definitely appreciate, as it’s something I pride myself in being.

But, I think I’ve developed such a thick skin that it is hard for the people around me to realize how I can hurt. Because I do believe that underneath the resilience, the self-reliance, the nose to the grindstone sort of attitude I have, the flippancy and all of that is a lot of sensitivity and a lot of sweetness that maybe gets overlooked. My therapist says I have trouble being really, honestly vulnerable with people, especially when feelings are at stake. I agree. I also simply do not allow myself to be anything less than strong. I’ve got this headspace where I can’t show people my actual vulnerabilities because to do so would be unacceptable.

Part of submission that appeals, then, is that ability to be vulnerable. To be sweet and gentle and devoted and sensitive and not have that mistaken for weakness. Maybe it’s partially a coping mechanism – a safe frame within which I can actually be vulnerable rather than in a normal life situation. But, I don’t know. It helps me express a lot of what I keep buried under the surface.

With things being complicated and absurd with the Southern Gentleman and because I have realized that it has been a long time since I have been with a girl, I think it is within reason that I consider the possibilities of a Southern Belle.

Move over, SG.

Sometimes, I yearn for the little touches above the grandiose acts. I want to experience that small, swimmy feeling of being told what I am going to be drinking and how much, of having it ordered for me while I just sit there in silence. Sometimes, it’s really those little things that tug at me.

Seeing images and reading stories of really full and complete submission surprisingly disturbs me. If I see things like shaved heads, permanent pieces of metal, horribly degrading tattoos, basically symbols of total surrender: I shut down. I can’t get into it at all.

I guess a big part of it is the fact that I have been that person without having undergone that sort of physical modification. Although it is not the case in the last year and a half, I have totally lost myself in relationships of this nature with people in the past. And while I have gotten smarter and stronger, there is a sort of residual dump that every so often some trash comes out of to bother me.

So I see those images and it rouses some feelings in me. It reminds me that I don’t want to live my life in a cage or give up my ambitions for some sort of 24/7 arrangement. And while it never got that far, there were boundaries that were definitely pushed both within and outside of the BDSM context. As this is something incredibly hard to express in a photograph and in erotica, I suppose it instead manifests itself for me in the more physical displays of complete surrender.

thenakey:

(via Red Redemption II by *SimonGreek)

It’s been almost a year now since the last time I tried waxplay.

The last time, I had to perform it on myself while the thief watched. There’s something a lot more daunting about doing it that way. You would think that being in relative control of the candle would make the experience a little less intimidating, but you tend to actually have a lot less control over the candle when your hand is shaking than you’d like.

We started with it over my breasts, on my nipples. I shivered when started to drip onto my thighs. I protested when he suggested I put it on my clit. I had never done that before or had anyone put the wax there. When I finally agreed, I swear I saw white the moment the wax made contact with my clit. I cried out, my body shook, and I wound up spilling more wax on my thigh and over my slit.

“I’m proud,” the thief said, “and, damn, that looks awesome.” He gestured to the wax that covered my body. I blushed and chuckled.

I think I am way overdue for another experience like that.

Photograph submitted by jeunefille18.

Sometimes, you just want her all at once. You realize that you’re not capable of such a thing. You bring her close but you can never quite bring her close enough. You press yourself into her with such force that you suppose that perhaps you’ll finally just fall into her.

The top layer of our cells are sloughed off. It’s a little disgusting to think about, but there’s something romantic about the idea that we leave a little bit of ourselves everywhere we go and on everything we touch. And so you can figure that part of her is on you, part of you is on her.

And you figure maybe that’s a huge part of intimacy: not being sure what’s you and what’s her anymore.

Photograph submitted by jeunefille18.

Recently, a well-meaning relative very frankly expressed the sentiment that blowjobs are impersonal and lack any sort of intimacy. You know how stuff gets at dinner tables when there’s alcohol.

I didn’t respond, but I think the bubblegum blowjob behind the bleachers (so many bs) stereotype is not entirely the picture of what a blowjob can be. Sucking cock can be an act of devotion, even if you aren’t kinky. It doesn’t have to be full-on cock worship, but it doesn’t have to be rough or half-hearted or unfeeling, either. Sometimes, it’s a sweet, tender thing.

The real bonds that hold someone aren’t rope or chains or leather. You can’t buy them in a sex shop or a hardware store. You can’t call them pervertibles or pass them off as arts and crafts supplies. They can’t be removed with a scissor or a key.

There’s a point where you just decide to give yourself over and that’s it. You’re bound, hand and foot. Locked away. Restrained. Vulnerable.

Sometimes, it’s incredibly freeing. Others, it’s horribly painful. There’s moments where it tears at you so completely because you realize the true depth of it. There’s moments where that same realization fills you with such utter joy that it renders you wordless. Surrender is a strange feeling because you haven’t completely lost yourself, just the battle.

And you’re bound long before you realize you are. There are new feelings and there are ways you can no longer move. And there’s a persistent idea, a simple phrase that at the same time feels so desperately painful and so indescribably wonderful.

I’m your girl.

itmakesmewet:

lovely.

fullfrontalnerd:

catphrodite by Marcus Ranum