HNT: Bulge
Last night, Zeta Mu (the co-ed frat I'm a member of) had their termly runway-like show, where people can sign up to perform. Most of these performances end up being sexual or with people dancing and stripping. The event is open to campus, but taking pictures and jeering, etc, will get you kicked out.
I'm going to blog about the event itself in a later post, since I did a pretty epic act with a gorgeous girl... this post is dedicated to packing.
I went to the event with my Mistress strapped on under a pair of black shorts. It felt awesome. The harness rested just over my clit, and the folded up dildo provided delicious pressure. Even more than that, though, I loved the feeling of having a cock and walking around basically looking like I had an erection. A couple of my friends who knew I was packing kept touching my crotch. I thought I'd feel violated by it, but I actually kind of liked it...
After the show was done, there was some dancing, and I took off my shorts and let it all hang out for a while. It was so freeing to walk around like that without anyone acting like it was anything out of the ordinary.
Pet (HNT)
It's only been about a month since me and J broke up, and already I'm back up to my old tricks.
A few days ago, I was venting to an online friend (who I will refer to from now as the Inventor) about the breakup. He consoled me, and after a while the conversation somehow segued to the topic of BDSM.
He asked if I wanted to submit to him.
I said yes.
For the past few days, he has given me numerous tasks to do. Some highlights: go without underwear for the entire day, expose myself and take a picture (he gave me permission to post it ^ ), & wear a plug for at least an hour.
He requests that I call him Sir, and wear my amethyst & silver bracelet (the one I used last time I was subbing for someone) when serving him. He let me choose my own title. I find most submissive titles somewhat obnoxious. I couldn't really settle on one I loved, but I went with one that sounded less obnoxious than the others - pet. The more he addresses me with it, the more I grow to like it.
He knows I'm inexperienced, and so is doing his best to build me up without causing me (too much) discomfort. So far, I've given up quite a lot of control to him already. I cannot touch myself or orgasm without his permission (excluding sex with other people), and starting from tomorrow he will be picking out clothes for me. (I sent him a list of most of the clothes and shoes I own. God, that was a long list.) Interestingly, I think the clothing rule will be more difficult than the orgasm rule, because clothes are such a big part of my self-expression. But, then, that's also part of the reason why I like that rule so much. Having someone control my behavior, even though it may be in seemingly inconsequential terms, is such an exciting act to me.
He also wants to make a point to get me to get over my aversion to verbalizing my thoughts and wants. If I'm IMing with someone, or writing, the dirty talk will just come pouring out - I've even started narrating sex in my head sometimes - but when it comes to saying it out loud, I freeze up. He knows this about me. He also wants to get me to be more comfortable with "performing" on cam for him. (And he knows me well enough to explicitly forbid any form of "liquid courage" while I'm camming with him. Damn.)
Yesterday, we were camming and he was telling me how hard he was at the thought of fucking me. Seeing his face and being able to put his facial expression to the words was exciting enough - I mostly just IM with him, and have spoken to him on the phone a couple of times, but never cam with him. Then he panned the camera down to show me the unmistakable bulge in his jeans. I bit down on my lip; on the tips of my fingers.
He said I might get to see more if I did something else for him. He wanted me to say, out loud, how much I wanted to fuck him. And to call him Sir. Nicely.
Part of me hates calling people "Sir" out loud. The word just sounds out of place; like I shouldn't be using it.
But I did it. I fumbled around awkwardly in my seat for a minute, and then I did it.
He rewarded me by letting me watch him take his cock out and stroke himself, slowly. I stared. I wanted so much to take him in my mouth...
After I got over some of the initial nervousness and shyness, I began wondering how I could make things even more interesting. Like a child with a new schoolteacher, I started thinking about loopholes, margins that I could play with. D/s is interesting because it's basically mutual manipulation, except both parties know exactly what's going on. I wouldn't want to do enough to anger or disrespect him, but I'm curious about what a little struggle could do.
I got an answer today. Last night, I got drunk at Zeta Mu and couldn't find this one person I'd been looking to hook up with (again). I went to bed drunk and sexually frustrated, and ended up putting my hands into my boxers and touching myself for a few minutes before drifting off to sleep.
I confessed this to him today, while I was at work, actually. He told me to find a private place, expose my ass, and spank myself hard enough to leave a red mark. I very self-consciously went to the restroom and did so. I knew that my hand would not be enough, so I ended up using a letter opener. Talk about creative use of office supplies.
I came back to my desk feeling embarrassed and obedient, with the sting of the letter opener slowly fading away as I sat.
I've been brought to such a heightened state of sexual tension that it feels like my entire body is thrumming. I think about fucking him while I'm at work, and while I'm doing my daily errands. I picture him taking me bent over desks, surreptitiously in darkened hallways, and on sumptuous bedsheets. I picture him biting me, fucking me hard and kissing the breath out of me until I'm too spent to move or speak after he's done.
Naturally, I hadn't done anything sexual for about a week beforehand. He has only granted me one orgasm so far, so I savored it. I made myself come like I hadn't in a long time: only with my fingers, slowly circling my clit and exploring my folds, while imagining him throwing me over his lap, spanking me and making me whimper, before brushing his fingers, oh so softly, over my wetness.
He has wonderfully large hands. I know that much.
This is re-opening parts of me that had been temporarily closed off. I'm writing erotica again; feeling my sexual energy again. I didn't realize what a big part of my sexuality kink was. I don't need it all the time, but it was definitely difficult being with a purely vanilla partner. I love vanilla sex as much as anyone, but so often my mind would naturally edge towards biting, scratching, slapping, serving and kneeling. Not being able to express my sexuality that way made me kind of boring.
I'm grateful for what he has done for/with me so far. And I'm looking forward for what is to come.
HNT: We Feel Fine
[Click to view full size]
A few months ago, a representative from We Feel Fine emailed me asking my permission to use one of my photos in a book. (!) There I am on the bottom right
Also featured in the book is the lovely Coy Pink (bottom left) and Sylvanus & Mina (not pictured).
We Feel Fine is an interesting experiment in interactive design. It started out as a java applet, and eventually I guess they got a book deal. The book just came out last month:
We Feel Fine is an exploration of human emotion on a global scale.
Since August 2005, We Feel Fine has been harvesting human feelings from a large number of weblogs. Every few minutes, the system searches the world’s newly posted blog entries for occurrences of the phrases “I feel” and “I am feeling”. When it finds such a phrase, it records the full sentence, up to the period, and identifies the “feeling” expressed in that sentence (e.g. sad, happy, depressed, etc.). Because blogs are structured in largely standard ways, the age, gender, and geographical location of the author can often be extracted and saved along with the sentence, as can the local weather conditions at the time the sentence was written. All of this information is saved.
The result is a database of several million human feelings, increasing by 15,000 – 20,000 new feelings per day. Using a series of playful interfaces, the feelings can be searched and sorted across a number of demographic slices, offering responses to specific questions like: do Europeans feel sad more often than Americans? Do women feel fat more often than men? Does rainy weather affect how we feel? What are the most representative feelings of female New Yorkers in their 20s? What do people feel right now in Baghdad? What were people feeling on Valentine’s Day? Which are the happiest cities in the world? The saddest? And so on.
Pretty cool.
HNT: Carnivalesque

Very late indeed, but this was part of my Halloween costume. I dressed up as a Venetian carnival demon type thing. It was kind of nice having a mask between me and everyone else.
And this totally counts as an HNT because of how paranoid I am about showing any part of my face on here!
HHNT!
HNT: Fishnets
Part of my outfit for Zeta Mu's show/party last night... the rest of the outfit was my white combat boots and a bowler hat
Great way to kick off the big party weekend...
HHNT!


HNT: Clamps

A quick and dirty HNT this time, since I'm back at college and no longer have a talented photog like Sylvanus to take my picture
This is partly a response to the number of people who mentioned nipple clamps when they saw my last HNT; and partly a thank you to NoZeFace for actually purchasing a number of items off of my Extreme Restraints wishlist for me (!!), one of which was a very evil looking pair of clover clamps. I'm too much of a wimp for those yet, so you'll have to make do with this picture of me wearing the eagle clamps I got at the Pleasure Chest.
I never thought I'd enjoy being clamped, but after the Optimist, who practically obsessed over my tits, pinching, squeezing, twisting them so much that I was still deliciously sore a week afterwards, it's starting to grow on me...
HHNT!
HNT: Peepshow
Warning! Rant ahead. Take this as a release after a long while of buildup...

I can probably mark my onset of puberty with the day men first started
sketching on me in the middle of the street.
This was before I was fashion-conscious, and before I considered myself attractive, you understand. I was just this dumpy, awkward, nerdy-looking girl who could do with washing her hair a few more times per week. Anyway, one day when I was 15 years old, I was out with my family. I was wearing jeans and a bottle-necked, thick, white sweater. We were entering a clothing store when I felt the unmistakable sensation of a hand surreptitiously groping my ass. I spun around indignantly, angrily, to see the guy I thought did it gliding smoothly away.
Later, I for some reason decided to go home ahead of everyone else. So I was walking home, in the middle of the day in this big city, and this guy comes up to me and starts asking me questions about the firework display that's happening later that day. Fine, I thought naively, he's just some lost foreigner who wants to know what's going on in the city. So I answered him.
But after a while he started asking me questions about me. Where I lived, what my name was, if I'd spend time with him. It was at this point that I just started walking away, hoping that he wouldn't follow me.
"Tell me your name," he called after me.
"No," I said.
And of course there were all the instances where people just made remarks loudly at me: "hey beautiful", "want to come with me?", cat-calls, whatever. Which always makes me feel more like I was being talked at than talked to. As if I were a tasty-looking meal or a nice car that they're voicing their approval of.
I'm only writing about this now because today I was wearing the above outfit and while I was waiting for the bus, some guy walked past me, commented on how attractive I was, then asked me my age. Thankfully, he simply left right after that and I just felt embarrassed. But it reminded me of something that happened when I was in San Francisco. Incidentally, I was wearing the exact same outfit. It was a poor choice for the day in question, as it was a particularly windy day and I was giving free pantyshots all over the place. Great.
Anyway I was trying to meet a friend and had got a bit lost, so I was wandering around looking kind of confused. And then this dude starts walking with me. Asking me personal questions, asking me to hang out with him, saying "when I saw you I thought - wow! - you're special," etc, etc. I eyerolled, thought "sure, like you can tell so much about me just by looking at me," gave him a fake name, gave him a fake number, hoped he would be contented with that and just go away, made it clear to him that I was busy and had to meet a friend, but he didn't leave. He followed me for at least two fucking blocks.
He finally left when I started ignoring him, which is what I should have done in the first place.
I am too fucking polite with these people.
I've always reacted to these encounters with a confusing slew of emotions. On the one hand, I felt strangely flattered. At least I'm attracted enough to get noticed, right? But that feeling was always quashed very fast. Why were these guys doing this? Was there just something about me, or the way I dressed, that just screamed "I AM A GIRL WITH NO STANDARDS, FUCK ME"? Plus, how come no normal, young, decent men tried to approach me? Why was it always these creepy, middle-aged men who lurked around on street corners?
(Hmm. It's probably because all the decent guys know better than to do shit like that.)
Let me get something straight...
When I put an outfit together, I wear it because it is aesthetically pleasing to me and rarely because I will be using it to seduce someone.
Here are a few things this particular outfit means to me:
- a reference to punk/punk lolita/goth/gothic lolita
- tough femininity
- a twist on the typical school uniform (Roommate once said I dress like "a demented schoolgirl" and a quarter of the time, yes, I do)
- black, red and white are three of my favorite colors, and I also really like plaid
So, please tell me, where exactly in there is the message "I REALLY want strange men to chat me up"?
I briefly considered changing the way I dress, thinking that maybe it would help... but then I realized something. There's nothing wrong with the way I dress. The ones with the problem are those men who come up to me.
---
I realize that my posting this rant together with an HNT is pretty ironic. I suppose it does look like I'm employing a double-standard. Some would say that by posting HNTs, I'm only objectifying myself.
But let me point a few things out. This is my sexblog, where, among other things, I post erotica and sexy pictures, because those are two ways I like to express myself. Under this post, there is a comments section. In this context, making comments on my appearance is appropriate. Just like if I were at a bar or frat party, and someone started flirting with me, I wouldn't be pissed off because the context is appropriate. Of course, I still expect anyone who comments on my posts or flirts with me to act polite, respectful and basically like a decent human being.
I am a sexually liberal woman who posts half-nekkid pictures of myself online, runs around Zeta Mu in my underwear, and is comfortable hanging out naked with my friends in the woods.
That does not make it okay for you to invade my personal space, interrupt my day, or try to push me into something that I'm not comfortable doing.
Thanks for reading.



























