Thursday, January 31, 2013

BOSS-Y Store 1111

1.Super-elastic material, can be arbitrarily adjust the tightness, allowing you to quickly focus on sweating!

I knew I was supposed to shower first, but I couldn't resist peeking in His bedroom, first. There they were laid out on the bed, as he'd said they would be. Three pairs of panties, in three colors. "Put on your favorite," he'd said. The panties looked normal enough. Maybe a bit smaller than the underwear I would normally choose for myself. But that was to be expected when a man bought one underwear! I picked the white ones up and examined the back. Oho! That's what was so special about them! The lower half of the panties' rear was sheer fabric. The fabric above had cheerful red polka dots on the white fabric, and at the center back was a large, white, bow. Definitely Lolita-wear. I loved them. 

2.Can be used with essential oil, SPA salt, massage cream to massage and other commodities, the effect doubled.

I picked the pink ones (with white polka dots on the backside) as the best match for my fitted white tee shirt, and headed to the bathroom for my shower. I moisturized with the jasmine scented oil he'd complimented. The scent was subtle, but it left my skin silky smooth. I slipped the new panties on in front of the mirror. They fit perfectly. The front was smooth, slightly puffed by the curl of my pubic hair.  I turned around and twisted to see the back. He'd made a good choice. My ass cheeks looked pale and round and full below the sweet little ribbon of pink. The ribbon sat just below the dimple at the base of my spine. And in between, the fabric cupped me lightly. Teasingly. As if he were here, trailing His fingers ever so lightly over my labia.

If only he Were here. But in His absence, he'd given me tasks to do, and I was quivering to continue through them. Into the living room, then. There was the toy he'd promised on the glass coffee table, as arranged. 

 I placed my phone camera-lens down on the transparent table top and arranged myself underneath so the camera would capture my underwear. I was buzzing with anticipation. I could feel that I was already getting damp. The underwear was sticking to me a little at the crotch. I could feel it as I shifted on the carpet, trying to make sure I was in the right position.

3.The patch contains the elastic material with excellent adhesion specially to meet the movement will not come off using the shift, you can complete coating, immediately sculpture of your waist.

I reached up for the toy he'd left me. It was a small curve of soft plastic, designed to nestle on the pubis with its rounded tip against the clitoris. I turned it on to the lowest setting, as I'd been instructed, and place it inside my underwear. It was harder than I'd expected to get it under the elastic fabric. It felt like I'd been sweating, and the fabric was slightly stuck against me.

The toy's vibration was extremely low. I had to lay still to feel its soft throbbing. Fair enough - he'd told me to lay still. "Turn on the camera and then lay still with your hands at your sides. I want to see your arousal, not your masturbation." 

He would see my arousal. I was soaking the underwear, I felt sure. The fabric was tight against my skin, much tighter than it had seemed earlier. The constriction felt good, like hands holding my hips, tight and controlling. The ache in my pussy was intense. The fabric (could it be shrinking from getting wet?) squeezed the little vibrator against my clit. The slow, quiet thrums of vibration were tantalizing. Torturous. Where a higher setting might have numbed me, this subtle sensation drew me into its slow rhythm  My hips rose and fell in time with its humming. And the panties seemed to grow tighter still. They didn't pinch, like a new bra. They squeezed, like a corset, only oddly positioned, somewhere between a girdle and a belt. My breathing felt constricted. 

Time passed in that delirious timelessness of helpless desire. I squirmed and moaned. I wanted to push the vibrator into me, I wanted a mouth on my breasts, I wanted him here, fucking me hard, over and over. I gave up trying to lay still, but when I tried to shove my hand inside my panties, it didn't work. They'd molded to me like a second skin. Unlike a second skin, I could feel nothing through them. I tried the press the vibrator harder into my clit, but the underwear fabric was unyielding. I rolled over, desperate, thrusting my pelvis against the floor. Nothing. 

My breath was coming hard and fast. I felt as if I couldn't get enough air. Though I could have sworn the panties only went to the top of my hips, I felt them tightly wrapped around my waist up to my ribs. I shifted and struggled, for air and for satisfaction. Nothing made any sense but how could it when I was so dizzy and desperate? I'm sure I shrieked and moaned and cried. I know I had bruises from where my legs banged against the table leg (that table leg which, when clenched between my thighs, had also failed to stimulate me through my underwear).

At last, vision darkening, a kind of peace came over me. I felt my orgasm near, though unreachable. I imagined Him watching me through the camera lens. I lay still. For a moment I felt as if I might be fading away. Then, molecule by molecule, I came to life again. Pleasure spread from my center, taking the form of tiny lights, awakening my skin. Overwhelming, arcing orgasm raced through my body, bright as lightening. I fell apart and came together again.

4.To wear off easily, easy to use and can be cleaned reused

In time, I regained a sense of place and self and ordinariness. I loosened my fingers from gripping the carpet. I removed the still-thrumming vibrator from my perfectly ordinary underwear. I extracted myself from under the coffee table and turned off the camera. And then, per His instructions, I went to bed. The other two pairs of panties would be waiting for me tomorrow.

5.Posted a sense of floating ultra-thin material, at any time can be used.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

I Like Kink

So let's see... so far I've confessed to an interest in forced lactation, a tentacle fetish, and liking to hear about my lovers fucking other women. I think I'll brainstorm a list of other things that fascinate/delight/totally turn me on.

Hair pulling melts me. Just a confident hand grasping my hair can make me lose track of what I'm talking about. Even in the most mundane circumstances, pull my hair and all I can think about is spreading my legs for you.

Spanking. It's obvious, I imagine. I also find a fierce spanking ameliorates anxiety attacks.

I'm terrified of electricity, and anything that scares me horribly can also turn me on. I have an odd relationship with electricity. I'm not sure if I have higher impedance or lower than average, but things that work via capacitive touch often won't work for me. On the other hand, I've been shocked more frequently than most anyone I know.

I'm a voyuer. In particular I adore watching other women orgasm. My ideal threesome leaves me out of the action except as assistant.

I haven't had much experience of orgies, but there are few things I love more than being in a tangle of limbs, cuddle puddle or otherwise. More bodies, please!

There's more, I'm sure. It will come to the surface, as I write.

I apologize for typos. I can't actually read the screen, right now. Contact lenses out, you know.


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

The Darkest Deja Vu - 2

Part 1 is here.

Every night, this dream. Maybe I'm ill, maybe my dream, and my sweat, and my lassitude are caused by fever. But I dream of cold, not heat.

The nerves of my legs can't distinguish what is touching me. Movement and temperature are clear. Size. Something cold and thick as my wrist, coiling around my legs, first the left and then the right. I shiver with the chill. Both legs have been wrapped with several loops, from ankle to thigh. Another cold appendage snakes around my waist.

The lifting and spreading of my legs feels inevitable. Yes, I knew this would happen. If only I could remember what happens next. If only I could open my eyes, I could see what's holding me. If only I could open my mouth, I could scream.

For a moment, nothing happens. I'm held, knees apart, feet high. I'm shivering. Involuntary movement is the only movement I'm capable of. Then something presses against my lips. My mouth opens (did I just wish for my mouth to open?) and is immediately filled. My tongue feels scales, smoothly tessellated  My teeth feel unyielding flesh. The back of my throat is touched, and I gag. The invader draws back, then moves forward again into my throat. I struggle for air. Except, since I'm paralyzed by sleep, there's not much in the way of fight in me. I hope for air. My lungs contract and release spasmodically. My body tingles with heat and cold. I wonder if I'm dying. The Thing makes way for a gasping breath.

I've decided to call it the Thing. Though there's really no reason to assume it's all one being. It could be a dozen snake-like creatures, or several squid. But this level of thought is beyond me. It's a thing, The Thing, and I am utterly at its mercy.

As my lungs pull in a blessed breath, I feel another tentacle-arm between my legs. A pressure, and it's inside me. It fills me deeply and completely. It's cold as ice against my warm insides, an agonizing cold I can do nothing to resist. 

In another moment, and my anus is similarly invaded. The Thing's progress inside me is swift. I am afraid it will not stop, that it will freeze and break my intestines. It does stop, though. I can feel it behind my belly. My body quivers with cold. My jaw aches, and I know my teeth would be chattering if there weren't a tentacle in their way. 

I almost laugh. It's ridiculous. I'm going to freeze to death in my sleep, penetrated by some kind of alien octopus. This dream, this hallucination--it's going to kill me. Then it begins. The tentacles inside me throb and twist and pulsate. My legs are forced further apart, and I feel a second tentacle attempting to join the first inside my cunt. My ass is being stretched further, too, and the appendage in my throat is intermittently cutting off my breath again. 

It comes to my attention that I'm incredibly aroused. I'm drooling and gagging and choking. I'm utterly immobilized  Some alien creature has me completely in its power. And I'm hopelessly turned on. 

It doesn't help that the tentacles seem to be vibrating, now, too. Twisting and turning, expanding and contracting, hitting nerves I never knew I had. I can't tell anymore if it's cold or heat that I feel. It burns and I burn around it. I'm thankful for the way the Thing is pumping my legs up and apart, a substitute for the thrusting my body aches to participate in. I'm being squeezed tightly, as if by a boa constrictor. Pleasure explodes through me, racing from the base of my spine to my fingertips. My womb convulses and my feet cramp. The tentacle in my mouth disengages but I still can't scream. I grunt, over and over, as my orgasm goes on and on and on. 

And then, nothing. Sleep? Some blank darkness without thought, brought to an end by the shrill of my alarm clock.

Like every morning lately, the sheets are soaked. My hair sticks to my forehead. I move groggily towards the shower. 


This story inspired by Tentacle: A Definition by Will Crimson

Monday, January 21, 2013

The Darkest Deja Vu

It's been a long day. I'm feeling inadequate, as usual. If only I didn't have to sleep.

My sleep is not restful. I have dreams - such vivid dreams. If my husband didn't sleep next to me, undisturbed, I'd swear they were real.

And yet, how could they be real?

It begins as soon as I close my eyes. My body sinks into the memory-foam mattress more deeply than it used to. Is it getting old? I add this to my list of worries: mattress needs replacement. I adjust my position and, as if I were in quicksand, sink even deeper. The paralysis of sleep comes over me. Am I on the bed (really in the bed, now) or floating in water? Either way, my limbs are heavy and helpless. I try to wiggle an ankle, just to see if I can. The message never seems to make it down to my leg.

Then I feel it. A chill against my leg, like a patch of colder water in a warm pool. The sensation is intimately familiar, as if I've experienced it a thousand times before. Familiar, yes, and weighted with dread. Like the darkest deja vu, I can't remember what happens next, but I'm certain it's loathsome.

The chill comes again, and resolves into a cold pressure against my ankle. Something smooth is sliding over my skin. I can tell without knowing how that it is alive.


Saturday, January 19, 2013


Looking at photographs. I love photography. G and I have spent long hours at museums discussing photographs. We have stacks of beautiful photography books. I've learned from him, about composition and how the history of art both changes and does not change the soul of the image. I've learned from practice at looking, how to see what's hidden in the dark places, or revealed.

I'm not a very good photographer. I don't tend to see the background or the light until later. My perfectly framed shot too often turns out to be a muddle of textures and shadow.

L and I looked at photos today, both of us sitting at computers, phones tucked against our ears. What page are you on? Scroll down! I was scouting erotic pictures for a project. We compared notes.

It's something I've only done with L, the easy discussion of what turns us on in images, flipping through them, arguing, dissecting, more interested in our conversation than pursuit of arousal. We weren't getting off. Or not sexually. Though I'll be thinking about some of those pictures again later.


L confessed he finds pregnant women sexy. He wants to nurse, he told me. I didn't tell him my side of that fantasy. I'm compelled by the idea of forced lactation. I've done image searches for women in bondage with breast pumps on. They horrify me. The whole idea, a man or a baby using my body that way horrifies me. Of course, that kind of disquiet turns me on, so....

Apparently it's a whole genre on Amazon, with titles like "The Billionaire's Milkmaid", "Touring the Lactation Lab", "Alice's Private Milking: A Medical Lactation Story", and the no-surprises, what you see is what you get, "Abducted and Forced to Give Milk".

Here's an excerpt from that last:

Now that he called attention to it, I realized just how soaking wet my breasts were. It was like someone had poured an entire glass of milk over my breasts, letting it trickle down my sides and stain the mattress. I knew I produced a lot of milk, but this was definitely much... MUCH more than usual. Was it because I was so aroused right now?
"You're milking so much. It's crazy. I can't believe you were hiding something this lewd."
Blushing furiously, I turned my head away, closing my eyes as if to escape the situation. At least when I thought it was someone else milking me, I could believe it wasn't anyone connected to my regular life. I know I had wanted it to be Aaron doing all of this to me. But now that I've confirmed that it's really him, I'm paradoxically wishing that it was anyone but him. Because now he knows how abnormally my breasts are, how they lactated so ridiculously much.
"P-Please don't look..!"
"Oh don't worry, I'm going to do more than just look. Much more..."
Suddenly, I felt something warm engulfing one of my tits. My eyes opened wide when I realized that he had taken my milk-soiled nipple in-between his lips, and was suckling furiously!
What I notice about this (besides some terrible editing and a disappointing lack of any actual "forcing") is the idea that breast milk is lewd. The author refers to her "milk-soiled nipple". Since when is milk dirty?  Since it became a marker for vaginal exudate, and therefor female desire. Female desire, of course, is shameful.

Why do I get off on this? I have no freaking clue. Let's just agree, as we have many times before, that no one should be judged by what turns them on.

Thursday, January 17, 2013


In the morning, yes, your leg over me, pressing and grinding against each other because we have night clothes on and the door's open and the child is humming in the next room but I groan anyway, because I do.

We lock the door and the child is alarmed and we send her off to watch tv. Someday she;ll figure out that tv time = parents having sex. Not yet.

Sunday, January 13, 2013


I'm so wet it's dripped down my thighs. As if he'd been a tease, playing my edge, keeping me overwhelmed and eager.

It's possible that's what he was trying to do, but I doubt it. I think he wanted to fuck me, and the rest was only mildly interesting. He could have taken me to orgasm, but it wasn't on his mind. Then again, my evaluation could be completely unfair. He's hard to read. When I meet his eyes, he smiles a closed-mouth smile that seems reflexive. It doesn't reach his eyes. What goes on in there? Anything?

Earlier in the evening we played a card game involving bluffing. The cards were different verminous creatures: rats, stink bugs, warty toads. "This is an angry cockroach," one might say, passing the next player a card face down. True or false? We tried to guess. I couldn't read him, but he saw through me a good percentage of the time. I haven't practiced bluffing.

I like to be approached with more than confidence. I want a man to be demanding. Tell me what you want from me, and if I agree, take it.

I liked tonight's sensual kisses and tentative caresses, I really did. Since I didn't want to risk fucking without privacy, there was no need for more intensity. I thought about asking for more - oh god I wanted fingers inside me if I couldn't have cock - but I didn't want to get more than I could return. If my orgasm wasn't paramount to him, if sex was to be an exchange of equal pleasures rather than a mutual enjoyment of everything... well, I'm not sure I care to rack up any debts.

And now I'm in bed, still aroused.... time to log off.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Who's who

"Can I tell you something? I mean, I know I can but I don't want you to think I..." His voice was pleading. "You already know all my secrets, anyway, it's not news..."

It's true I know a lot about him. All his weaknesses. His strengths, he still finds ways to surprise me with. One being, his ultimate honesty.

"I think she's in the mood and I'm in the mood and I really want to make it work, but sometimes I just can't get hard. I have to be Really turned on, and I can't fake it. Like, my brain plays tricks on me, and the more I worry about it the less it works and I can't just Not worry about it. And L's been having trouble having orgasms, too, so it's like both of us are stressing out on the rare occasion that we're not fighting." Longwindedness, another of his conversational characteristics.

I interrupted. "Have you tried a cock ring?" He had. It helped but not enough. "Do you want advice?" I asked. He did.

"Ok," I said. "I'm you now."

"You're me?"

"Yes. I'm feeling oddly tall. Where are my tits? Damn! I'm all flat chested! Being you sucks!"

He laughed. "Tell me about it."

"So you say to her, 'I want  you tonight. I want to go down on you and taste you and feel you and put my fingers inside you. If anything else happens, that's great, but I really just want to go down on you.'"

"Yeah," he said. "You're right. That's what I need to do."

"Damn. Me too. I really need to get laid now." The image of him, the memory of him between my legs had me all heated up.

"Wait," he said. "Are you still me? Or is that you?"

Thursday, January 10, 2013


My breasts feel large tonight. That bra is a kind of elastic fabric that squeezes the whole breast into a firm, high bundle. Now I've taken it off, I feel like I'm expanding, like that game where you press your arms upwards against a doorway, and when you step forward your arms float up as if moved by another will. My breasts are bouncing back to their true shape after a long day of pent up, boobalicious energy.

Usually I'm asleep before I could experience this.

It's a virtue I've savored, my ability to sleep. I sleep easily and deeply. Unfortunately, it's the main reason I don't get laid as much as I'd like. Well, one of. Or at least, that's the story I tell myself. I've told G it's ok to wake me for sex, but honestly, that's easier said than done. I don't like being woken up. He feels badly about disturbing me.

Honestly, I sometimes try to be asleep before he gets to bed.I want sex, but I don't. I fear not rested. I fear how sometimes things go wrong and our sex is unpleasant. I fear having to face my inner demons that say sex is disgusting.

Sex with other people does not bring up these feelings. I don't know, though, if it's purely my feelings about G, or if it's a result of being in a long-term relationship with him. I mean, would I feel this way with anyone once the newness wore off?

G's body turns me off, and his smell. His kisses turn me on, but he rarely initiates kisses, and doesn't seem to enjoy them like he used to. Sometimes he's dominant in a way that arouses me madly. Sometimes it just annoys. I can tell he doesn't like the way my pussy tastes. He kisses my thigh to get the taste off. I've done the same thing w/him, because he doesn't always wash well. Once he gets past the initial distaste, he does well enough. He can make me come hard and often and intensely.

I can get his whole cock down my throat, most times, and lick his balls at the same time. I love that. Of course, that means there's not much to him. It doesn't matter if I'm on top. He hits the right spots. Any other position is iffy or impossible. He can't stay in well from behind, and there's no chance of missionary. Sometimes I mind. Sometimes I think, so what? It's not like I'm bored of having great orgasms while riding him.

Sometimes I try to justify my wanderings by focusing on the negative.

I could talk with G but I don't think telling him his dick's too small and his body's too fat is going to be news or make any positive impact. Not much going to happen about either except he could be more ashamed and less connected.

He could talk to me but there's not much reassurance I can give for any of his fears. Except that I'm still here, after going on 20 years. I wish that were enough.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

The Theory

This is to be my after-dark blog. My write-in-bed blog. Don't expect literature.

I have a very nice daylight blog. I don't post much, but what I do post I work hard on. The thing is, I still have secrets. I hate secrets, but I have them. And the people in my daylight world, I don't want them to know about these things.

If you are part of my secret world, welcome. Don't get too close, please. Or I'll have to retreat further.
I met her tonight. I was stunned. I'd expected someone awkward, a little odd. Instead she seemed warm, open, and oh she's heart wrenchingly beautiful. Smaller than me, maybe. Dark haired and dark eyed. I could look at her all day.

I didn't think once, until just this moment, about the fact that she has perfectly smooth labia. And, um, now I can't stop thinking about it.
They left early. I hope it was because they couldn't wait to fuck again.

It makes me hurt, thinking that. It scares me and titillates me and hurts in a way that is enervating and horrible and happy. That's jealousy.

That's jealousy for me.
So, alright. I'm writing a journal and calling it a blog. I'm not going to go back and edit this and call it a story and put it in a book. I just need to tell my secrets. I need them out of my head and off of the page in out in the world where they will find others with the same secrets and whisper together, and let go of some of their loneliness.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013


"She was smooth as a baby." I was in bed, face down, phone balanced under my ear, hands in my pants. "She must have had laser hair removal. It was So.Smooth." He sighed in my ear. I imagined the feeling on my fingertips. I know he likes my hair. He likes pulling it, twisting it, making me squeal. I imagined his tongue against her smooth lips."We had hot sex but I still felt like she was putting on a show," he said. "Usually I count on finding some authenticity once we're in bed." I was jealous but it only made my heart pound and my panties drip.