From the kitchen comes increasingly desperate clattering sounds as Anika searches for a very specific wooden spoon with all the urgency of a trapped miner who knows there’s one more stick of dynamite somewhere under the rubble.
The note He left me gave clear instructions in His spiky drunken-spider handwriting
Take off your clothes.
Insert the earbuds
Put on the hood.
Present yourself and wait for me.
Keep absolutely still at all times. If you move, you will be punished.
I dislike the term ‘foreplay’ with its insinuation that penetration is the main event; and as though anything non-penetrative is trivial and frivolous compared to the Real Business of sticking something somewhere.
But even if I were to use that term as shorthand for ‘the introductory stages of sexual activity for the purpose of stimulating arousal’, I’d still have issues with the ‘play’ part. I like my getting-revved-up activity to be serious. Not necessarily solemn, but with focus, intent and dedication. No messing about here, I want to see hunger and need in your eyes. That turns me on, more than any caress.
She is a silent presence behind him. Bound to the chair in the corner, blindfolded, commanded to stillness and quiet; her very presence is a vortex of frantic energy. She wants attention, gratification, sensation, and has yet to learn that these things must be earned.
My sex toy collection is still fairly modest although possibly still larger than the average non-sex-blogger person’s.
“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”
The question is delivered half-chidingly, half with amusement. It’s a rhetorical question but one that I am still expected to answer. Contrition or cheekiness? I weigh up which is most likely to be rewarded and opt for blatant laciviousness
“I am, Sir. I want whatever you will grant me”
From along the bracken-strewn path, I could see that the windows on the birdwatching hide were all closed
Something about the summertime exuberance of the wildlife on this nature reserve has struck with an inexplicable surge of horniness. Right now, I really really want to indulge in myself – pull my tingling nipples, rub my swollen clit, plunge my fingers deep into my wet cunt and grind myself against my hand as hard and fast as I can manage until I come.
Edging myself is not something I do deliberately very often. I’m terrible at self-denial (and not just when it comes to orgasms; I’ll eat chocolate until I feel sick and smoke until my lungs hurt because – well, why on earth would I stop?!)
It’s been three days since I ordered the gadget and this morning the maildrone dropped it on my doorstep. I’m supposed to be working but I reckon I can legitimately take a quick break to have a peek at the device the Internet has gone crazy for.
“The BeTogether brings revolutionary thought-connection technology to life!” cooed the adverts “Be closer than you’ve ever dreamed!”
TW: some of these fantasies involve totally make-believe scenarios of non-consensual sex. Consent is definitely and always necessary IRL, but inside my head I am safe to explore darker themes without damage. If the idea makes you uncomfortable or distressed then this blog post is not for you, please don’t read on. Always take care of yourselves and each other.
What do you think about when you’re having a wank? Someone asked me this a long time ago and my response was erm; fucking, duh….isn’t that what everyone thinks about?