sex fantasy « Heartbreak Nymphomania

25May/103

Please, Sir (Virtual Book Tour)

If you ask me, submission is an art form. It requires dedication, focus, commitment and desire, and there’s no single way of doing it. It’s about unlocking something within yourself so you can reach beyond your normal limits, exposing your body and soul in order to go somewhere you cannot get to alone.

The lesson there, and in all of these stories, is that there is risk involved in submission. I don’t mean the physical risks, but the emotional ones, the ones that require a leap of faith, a knowledge that what you are doing may unnerve you, confuse you and scare you, even while it makes you wet and eager and ready for more.

[Excerpt from Introduction: Risk and Reward]

Rachel Kramer Bussel so wonderfully expresses one of the aspects of BDSM that draws me to it the most - and keeps me coming back.

Lately, I have been antsy. My workload has increased and I've spent hours and hours tutoring students. Last night, I came home and wanted nothing more than to abandon my mind and dedicate myself to something mechanical and pleasing to someone else. I ended up cooking, but the dish didn't come out right, and it didn't quite assuage the restlessness that I was feeling.

My lovers are vanilla at the moment, and I've no foreseeable possibility of a kinky encounter. Submissive energy has entered my fantasies, and my mind is plagued with cravings that I picture while I'm getting off:

---

The first fantasy is all about pain. He places me over his lap, lifts up my skirt, and yanks my panties down to my knees. He starts out with his hand - his hands are always large, with wide palms. I am not allowed to kick or move my legs. He wants them straight, flat against the couch, and slightly spread so that he can access me whenever the fancy strikes him. I curl my fingers into the upholstery; trying not to cry out, but feeling the noise welling in my throat regardless. After I've been thoroughly warmed up, he switches to the hairbrush. The hard wood results in a new, sharper pain, while waking up the duller pain left behind from the spanks with his hand.

A few minutes in, the tears come. My thoughts are filled with nothing but: pain, don't move, and why? Eventually he makes me stand up. My face is contorted and streaked with tears, which embarrasses me more than my recent position over his lap.

He gestures for me to bend over the back of his desk chair. Same rules: spread my legs, and keep them still. He finishes with several strokes from his belt. I hear the leather whistle through the air, and crack across my already sore flesh. This time, I scream.

He doesn't stop until my ass is blistered red and I can no longer control my sobs. He brushes his hand lightly over one cheek, which makes me flinch. I already know I'm dripping. He grabs my hips, thrusts into me without any preamble, and his hipbones press into my roasting flesh. As soon as he enters me, my orgasm rolls over me in a wave, but he keeps going.

I think to myself: I'm glad I didn't move my legs the entire time, like he wanted.

---

The next fantasy is about servitude. I picture myself living with someone who works hard every day and comes home tired. Before he comes home, I cook one of his favorite dishes. From scratch; an authentic recipe I learned and then added my own flair to. I serve the dinner and clean up; after dinner, we go to the bedroom and strip down. He lays down on the bed and I oil my hands, rubbing the tension out of his sore back and shoulders. I am naked because he likes the feeling of my breasts and cunt brushing against his body. Once he is relaxed, he rolls over and pulls me on top of him, entering me in one swift stroke.

---

The fantasy after that is about uncontrol. I'm spread-eagled and restrained on the bed, with my legs bent at the knee. He's fucking me with a toy that's designed to hit my G-spot, and it feels wonderful. He fucks me so hard and irresistibly that my orgasm hits me before I'm even aware that it's happening; and he continues until I have another, and another, and my body is spent. I can barely move, or think...

---

The final fantasy is about possession. We're in bed, naked, in the dark, and he fists his hand in my hair, pulling my head down to worship his cock. I use my lips, throat and tongue to the best of my ability, shutting down my mind and letting his cock hit the back of my throat. I gag, once; a stream of spit surges out of my mouth and down his shaft. He pulls my head away and tells me he wants to finish in my ass. I position myself; face in the pillows, on my knees, ass and cunt in the air, presented to him. He fingers my ass until I'm moaning, and then pushes his slick cock into me easily. I moan, and whimper, his cock hitting something inside of me that makes me see stars. When he's done, I lay face down for a while, reveling in the feeling of being nothing but his object of pleasure; the receptacle for his come.

---

Please, Sir speaks to all of these fantasies of mine, and has definitely helped fan the fire of my submissive cravings.

Submission is so many things to me: trust, expression, abandon, servitude, skill. Above all, though, it's knowing that I'm pleasing my lover by giving myself over to him. One of my favorite stories from the anthology displays this perfectly:

Sometimes, a few hours after she has fallen asleep, Veronica feels her husband climb atop her, his cock hard and insistently throbbing against her thighs. She knows what to do. She spreads her legs, wide. As Vince buries his cock inside his wife, stretching her open, she moans drowsily. She doesn't have to move or groan or call out his name. She only has to allow herself to be used. It turns her on that in the dark of their bedroom, their bodies heavy with sleep, she is just a tight warm space from which her husband will extract her satisfaction.

...

Vince said, "I'm not looking for a maid. I'm not looking for a mother. I'm looking for a body. I also know how to appreciate that which I am allowed to take."

On their wedding night, Vince told Veronica that he didn't believe in punishment. He believed in discipline. Then he taught her the difference. For a long while, Vince stood behind his new wife, inhaling her scent, letting his hands memorize the contours of her body. She shivered. Vince smacked her ass, smiling as her skin rippled beneath his hand. A blush of red quickly appeared. He smacked Veronica's ass again, harder this time, his hand stinging as it rebounded. "Discipline," he said, "is a reminder."

...

Veronica looked up at Vince and saw unexpected kindness in his eyes. "Have I pleased you?" she asked. Vince reared back, holding the tip of his cock at the sensitive, quivering lips of her cunt. He squeezed Veronica's throat harder, and she wrapped one hand around his wrist. Vince thrust forward. Veronica cried out again, feeling a blade of pleasure so deeply, she thought her bod might split at the heart. Finally, he said, "Yes."

[Excerpt from Veronica's Body by Isabelle Grey]

You can order a copy of the book from Amazon.com.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, anal play, books, bottom/object, fiction, pain, sex fantasy, sex toy review, spanking 3 Comments

25Apr/103

Voice

This post is the result of a task Sir set me yesterday. His prompt:

I want you write a story about being fucked by me. Assume your wrists will be bound, and that I will have freedom to roll you on your knees or your back. This story should be full of explicit detail, and focus on how your body and mind feel through the experience.

Once written, I want you to make an MP3 of you reading it. GarageBand on your computer will do the recording for you. Depending on the quality of your performance, I will give you some sort of reward session.

Recording this was interesting. I felt so awkward at the beginning, and I hate my voice, but as I read more, I started to feel weirdly liberated. I started owning the words that came out of my mouth and enjoyed saying them.

---

The tension had been building up all day - from the moment you'd met at the bus station and exchanged conspiratorial smiles. And then there was all the "accidental" brushing up against each other at the restaurant; your toe stroking his ankle briefly under the table, spooning ice cream into your mouth, your eyes twinkling.

When you arrive at the hotel room, he didn't waste any time. He tells you that he wants you naked, and you comply, nervously stripping off each piece of clothing and piling everything neatly on one of the armchairs.

"Stand still," he says. He comes up behind you and slips something silky over your eyes and around your head. His tie, probably. Then: nothing. You can feel his appraising gaze on you. The room is not at all cold, but your skin is chilled and prickling with goosebumps.

When you feel his hand on your wrist, you almost jump out of your skin. The sound of velcro separating licks through the quiet room. He puts your hands behind your back and cuffs you.

More nothing: just rustling, then the unmistakable clink of a belt buckle. You swallow, wondering what he's going to do next.

Soon, he returns, standing in front of you.

He tells you to kneel. You do, feeling the soft carpeting against your knees, being careful to keep your balance. You begin to feel yourself fall swiftly and irresistibly into that comfortable, confined space in your mind.

"The thought of fucking my pet has made me hard."

He fists his hand in your hair and yanks you forward. You can feel his hardness against your cheek: warm, already leaking pre-cum that smears onto your face.

"Do you want me to fuck you, pet?"

"Yes, Sir. So badly."

"In time. First, you'll take my cock in your mouth. And if you please me... I'll fuck you." His fingers tighten in your hair.

Doing this without your hands or sight is more than awkward. You touch your nose to the side of his cock, put our your tongue and lick along the underside, then wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue, and swallow.

You want to take all of him in, know that you can't, but try anyway. Your throat makes embarrassing, crude sucking noises, and you gag around him. You try to relax, willing your body to accept his cock, wanting to accept his cock, and that makes it easier. He keeps his hand in your hair, moving you to the rhythm that he wants. After a while he releases you. Your lips are covered in saliva and it's threatening to drip down your chin, but you can't wipe it away. You lick your lips instead.

"Stand up." His breath is ragged. It makes you want to smile.

You wobble to your feet and he plucks your small body up into his arms, and sets you back down. You're face down on the bed.

"Get on your knees and bend over."

You tuck your knees under you, pushing your face against the sheets to get into position. You can feel him looming over you. He smooths his hand over one asscheek, and then his fingers find your cunt - your sopping wet cunt. You whimper. He chuckles. He fingerfucks you, fast and hard, gradually adding more fingers. When you seem to be on the verge of coming, he derails you with a well-placed spank.

He withdraws his fingers and you feel a new pressure on the bed. He rests his hands on your hips.

"I'm going to fuck you, pet. You're not allowed to come until I tell you to."

You groan. You feel him pause at your entrance for a split second, before he plunges into you, making you gasp. He pounds you, there's no other word for it: his cock filling you, his hips bumping against your ass, his fingers pressing into your hips so hard there's sure to be bruises later.

He pulls out of you suddenly and flips you over.

"I'm going to cut off your air for ten seconds," he says; breathless himself.

You nod. He enters you again. At the same time, you feel his hand clamp down around your throat. The lack of air and intense fucking make you feel light-headed.

The ten seconds stretch out forever, but eventually he releases you.

"You may come."

His hand moves from your neck to your clit. He starts pounding you in earnest, and you come almost instantly: screaming out your orgasm so loud you swear the entire floor can hear it. After a few more strokes, he follows you over the edge, groaning against you, flooding you with his come.

A moment of inertia: the both of you panting, hearts beating a mile a minute. Then he sits up, gathers you in his arms and removes the cuffs and the silk tie. And all you can think is: I screamed. I didn't think I was capable of it, I didn't think I could contain that much sensation. But I did scream, and he made me.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, asphyxiation, bottom/object, fiction, long distance, sex, sex fantasy, the Inventor 3 Comments

30Dec/091

A Guiding Hand

Hey, so, Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and happy holidays and such. I've been spending a lot of time hanging out with family and friends and such and oddly haven't been in the mood for blogging, until now. Being apart for a month can do that to you, I guess.

I'm quite aware that this post is about topping from the bottom. But you can't exactly get a person to start hitting you. You have to start somewhere. I wonder when I'll work up the nerve to ask that first question? We've both very sexual people, but I have a feeling that sex means so many more things to me than it ever will to him.

[via jkrabbit]

Would you like to try pulling my hair?

No, don't pull the tips; everyone does that, and it doesn't feel good. Put your hand here, close to my scalp, and grab a big handful. Feel free to yank; it's okay. Yes, just like that. Hold me against the wall; bite my neck, my shoulders. Can you feel them - my muscles, my pulse - under your teeth? You could be gentle, or bite down hard enough to draw blood - neat, red pinpricks - like this. Don't worry, I'll tell you if it hurts too much.

Hold me up against the wall. Kiss down my body; hold, grab, squeeze my tits; pinch and twist my nipples between your fingers, until I can't keep quiet. My arms are folded behind my back. You didn't ask me to put them there; but it feels right. I'll keep still if you want me to. You're so good to me, so patient with my nonsense; I want to do something for you now; I want to make you feel good. You never ask for much, but that doesn't mean you don't want. I'm learning you more and more as time passes; I notice the hitches in your breathing and the way your voice gets soft and husky with desire, even if the words you say are few.

What would you like me to do for you? Please, tell me. Tell me how you want me. I'll suck your cock, lave you all over with my tongue, soft and slow and not leaving a single part of you untouched. I'll bend over, good and obedient, ass high in the air for you to use; a warm hole for you to come into. I won't move. I won't touch myself. Not unless you want me to. Or you could shove my face into my pillows; hold me down and leisurely touch and tease and explore me until my entire body is thrumming like a wire highly charged with electricity.

We could do all of these things, and more. But, for now, we'll begin with you yanking my hair.

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, J, bottom/object, fiction, intimacy, sex fantasy, switch 1 Comment

28Nov/092

Claiming (2/4): “Assume the position.”

These events took place circa. October 2009. Read part 1 here.

Day #2

Two days later, on a typically doleful Monday, I was at work when Sir emailed me. He was at work, too, and was having a stressful day. He asked me if I was up to helping him "relieve himself." I agreed at once - both excited to see what was to come and glad to escape my own humdrum day, if just for a little while.

He asked if I had done anything to warrant a spanking, and I told him a few "bad" things I had done over the past few days. Slept through class. Behind on work. The usual transgressions. He said that I should take my academics more seriously, and then asked that I "assume the position": all fours, face down. He wanted me to feel vulnerable. I was familiar with how that position felt - it made me feel exposed - but tantalizingly so - imagining the gaze of my lover wandering down my body, taking in everything.

Sir started spanking me, again: harsh swats that stung and reddened up my skin. He built up a rhythm until he was happy with the hue of my behind, then soothed my burning skin with his hands.

At the library front desk, I bit my lip and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in my seat. My eyes were fixed on the computer screen - utterly intent on it. I hoped that the head librarian wouldn't suddenly come by to fetch something, as she sometimes did, because I didn't want to interrupt our session by having to hurriedly minimize my email in order to hide it.

He resumed spanking me, letting his fingers land between my legs, moving on to heavier blows... I let him know how turned on I was, and imagined what I'd do if this was really happening - gasp, squeal, half-attempting to escape from his blows and half-arching towards his touch; wanting and detesting the mix of pleasure and pain at the same time.

By then, my work shift had come to an end and I had to leave to do some errands. I told Sir, and so we switched to text messages. It was so unbelievably hot to do something as mundane as stand in line to pick up some packages, but with my thumbs flying over the keypad of my cell-phone, attempting to settle my facial expression into a non-incriminating configuration that did not betray what I was doing, heat pooling at my clit...

Sir began probing me, pressing his fingers inside me as he continued landing slaps all over my behind. I was both embarrassed and intensely aroused, groaning, overwhelmed with sensations. He rocked his hand as I rocked back into him, then pulled his fingers out and rubbed my clit, using his other hand to pull my hair so my head snapped back uncomfortably.

And then he took his cock out, the cock that I had never seen but knew was thick and substantial, according to what he had told me, and that I knew would stretch and fill me wonderfully... He pulled my body towards him, sinking himself into me. I tried my muffle my moans until he asked me to stop... half-reluctantly I took my knuckles out of my mouth and let my moans and choking cries fill the room. He pounded into me until he was about to go over the edge... then pulled out just as he came, spurting his come all over my back, leaving me limp, shuddering, and sated...

The end of our tryst found me in the library again, this time getting ready to do some homework... but so wet, bothered and distracted that I could barely even focus on the readings in front of me; my mind filled with gorgeous, filthy images as a result of what had just happened between us.

But things did not end there - Sir had more in store for me: he wanted to stake a claim on me. It was early afternoon and the day still stretched on before us, and Sir gave me a list of things that he wanted me to accomplish before going to sleep.

To be continued...

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, Sir, bottom/object, cybersex, exhibitionism & voyeurism, in retrospect, journal, long distance, sex, sex fantasy, sex in odd places, spanking, wanking 2 Comments

27Nov/094

Sharing is Caring; & Working Our Way Up

So far, me and J's relationship is going swimmingly.

I'm very happy with him - he gives me all the important, emotional things that I need, he's an incredibly intelligent and interesting person, he's absolutely lovely in bed, and I am smitten with him. So, really, complaining about what I'm about to complain about is like saying - "oh yeah, I am in perfect health. I feel on top of the world! ...All except for this one insect bite. I wish it would stop itching." It's even barely worth mentioning. In fact, I'd say that I'm not really complaining because I am in no way discontent with the way things are. This is more of an observation, because my mind does tend to wander to the darker, more twisted places, even when I am happy.

Lately, I've been having fantasies of sharing J with another person. Of course, I know that he would never go for that, so these will stay strictly fantasies - but, because I know that he's bisexual (even though he mostly doesn't act on his attractions to men because of his cultural background), I keep thinking about finding some cute gay/bi man, slim and smooth-skinned, bordering on twink, and J going to bed with him and then coming back to me and telling me all about it. And then having hot, raunchy sex. I've also wondered what would happen if J and one of my old lovers and me all slept together - I think of N, in particular, because the last time we slept together he told me how much he was turned on by fucking me while I sucked another guy's cock... and basically implied that he might be interested in exploring sex with another man.

I've wanted my friends-with-benefits to meet each other and perhaps see if they were attracted to each other, before. The way I see it - I think you're super awesome, and I also think that person is super awesome, so I want the two of you to experience each other's awesomeness! I've also really wanted to tell J about my experiences with Sir - not to make him jealous or to imply that I want him to be more like Sir... but just because I really like Sir and I really like what we did together and I want to share that with J. I probably won't tell him in as much detail as I record here, merely because I don't want him to feel insecure, but I think I will talk to him about it eventually.

This is pretty new to me, especially considering I've bitched so much about past lovers who slept around a lot, in addition to sleeping with me. This is different, though; me and J both know that we are at the forefront of each other's minds and hearts, no one else. And notice that in all the examples I've given, I've had some say or involvement in J's being with other people. Or at least am consulted beforehand, or told about it afterwards. So - not the same thing at all, really.

Like I said, I know that J would never go for this, and I don't actually want it enough to try and push the issue. It's an interesting thing to think about, though.

---

One thing that me and J haven't done much of, but I know might be possible, is SM play. As considerate and concerned with pleasing me as he is, I don't get a submissive/bottommy vibe from him at all. He has also told me that he has no interest in doing that. Which is fine, because I don't want to top him at all, it would just feel wrong/weird. However, he strikes me as the kind of person who would be domineering if he was not as nice as he is. He definitely states his wants and his opinions frankly and without apology, and he enjoys teaching me how to do things...

I've talked to him about some of my interests in SM, and he told me that he finds the idea of spanking me or tying me up pretty hot, but right now he isn't comfortable enough to do any of that. I'm not going to go into detail, but he does have issues with power/abuse.

And, like I said, it's not like I'm not happy with how things currently are. But I do get urges where I really want to engage with power play in some way, and when those urges come, I can't really do very much with them.

This makes me feel pretty selfish. I feel that it's unfair of me to try and get him to do stuff that he has issues with, just because it kinda turns me on, when we have a wonderful sex life already.

I think I might just be unused to being the partner who is more experienced/interested in more things. Before, it was my lovers like K and the Emperor who worked me up to topping them, even though I had never done it before and didn't even know that I was interested in SM at all. And now, instead, I'm in the position where I know I'm into something, and am trying to introduce that thing to someone else.

Obviously, I'm not going to throw everything at him all at once. If I'm going to try this with him, I'm going to work him up to it slowly and gradually. A couple of people have suggested that I start out with asking him to do small things, like perhaps asking him to pinch my nipples harder when he's touching me, or something.

So if anyone has some useful advice on how I should go about this, or if I should be trying to do this at all, it would be very helpful

Filed under: BDSM, J, non-monogamy, reflections, relationships, sex fantasy, threesome 4 Comments

1Sep/092

Peace & Passion

[Photo via Mistress Sade]

Last night, I came across a couple of very sexy pictures.

They were black and white pictures of a beautiful naked man in bondage. Leather straps around the chest and legs, collar, cuffs, cock & ball harness, the works. What I found interesting was that the pictures colored me equal parts randy and tranquil. I felt restless, too - like I really, really wanted something to do with that but didn't know exactly what. Looking at his long limbs restrained so neatly and beautifully produced this sense of calmness and comfort; similar to that one time I was bound with rope. I tried to articulate what, exactly, I felt at the time to S, and couldn't. But now I've finally put my finger on it.

It's the same kind of Zen feeling I get when I'm cleaning, but under no time pressure. Like folding clothes, organizing my desk, straightening the row of shoes in my closet. Wanting to go up to Christopher and fix the collar and cuffs on his shirt. Or to actually dress him, from head to toe. And for a couple of weeks, I did this thing when I was really stressed or anxious, and I'd take napkins and systematically tearing them up into thin, uniform strips. Sometimes I can do really mundane work, like filing, and thoroughly zone out and feel very very calm.

A ritualistic compulsion.

I can see myself acting the same way with dominance.

Slowly drizzling colorful lines of hot wax over someone's smooth, dipped back. Tying someone's arms behind their back and admiring how they look in the pretty ropework. Shaving them, even...

Considering how neurotic I can be, it sort of makes sense that I would tend towards dominance. Hard limits aside, if the person is fully submitting to me? Dominance, within reason, is all about me, about what I am doing to them.

In many ways, it's all about creating some semblance and order in an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable world.

---

What you will notice is that I keep using the word "someone." Up until now, I still haven't found someone who I can explore things with; who is consistently there.

I've had many conversations about how S/M is more about the people involved than whatever play you might be engaging in. And I fully believe that. I mean, that's why I haven't played with every Tom, Chris or Susan who has come my way. At the same time, whenever I meet someone into S/M who I click well with, my thoughts, immediately, are: "Great! Maybe now I can do all this stuff." When you've been waiting and wanting very much to try certain acts, it's pretty hard not to do that. I want to stop myself from doing that, though, because it produces a certain kind of blindness that I'd prefer to avoid.

The other reason I'm so focused on S/M "actions" is... well, I don't know how to do all that much yet. I guess part of it is my being a geek and wanting to know as much of the technicalities as possible. And part of it is building some kind of "street cred." I've met submissives who have wanted to play with me who were so experienced that I ended up being intimidated. "You mean, you've been suspended, put in a sleepsack, and pierced before? No way am I going to be able to do that for you..."

I'll be honest, when I dom someone, I want to spoil (and torture) them to no end. I want to dom them as well as I possibly could, and how can I do that if I don't know what the hell I'm doing?

In many ways, I see S/M as an art form - taking sensations, learning them, and manipulating them, with the end result being the wresting of a beautiful landscape of emotions from the other person.

Filed under: BDSM, Domme, Erotica, journal, reflections, sex fantasy, x-posted 2 Comments

26Jul/092

Clandestine

Sometimes you wonder if you only get your best ideas while you're jerking off.

You hadn't showered all day, and feel filthy, so you decide to take one even though your sister and her fiance are over to visit. The water heater is working properly for the first time since you've been home, and you're taking full advantage of it; holding the showerhead close to your body, letting the warm water run all over your shoulders, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair slooowly.

Then you turn the water off, rub the conditioner into your hair and suddenly get the impulse to lie down in the tub. So you do, sliding down the slope of the tub until your head is resting against the bottom and your legs are bent at the knee. You close your eyes. You open them again and survey the bathroom from your new vantage point. It looks a lot more interesting from this point of view.

You're caught by another impulse: a powerful one; bizarrely sensual. Your eyes slide shut and your hand wanders down your body, coming to rest at your clit. You tease yourself with your fingers and imagine one of the erotic scenes you've been wanting to write.

You can hear your sister and your mum chatting animatedly in the sitting room outside.

As you slide a finger inside yourself, rub yourself quicker, feel your hips raise slightly almost of their own accord - you fill in gaps in the imagined scene, picking the characters' names, adding in little details, clarifying certain happenings - you move your finger from your cunt to your ass, surprised when your (now-well-trained) sphincter practically swallows your finger up. And your imagination jumps from the first scene to a different one; one that you've envisioned a hundred times before and that never fails to get you off.

A woman is bent over a table, hands stretched out in front of her and tied in place, ankles spread and tied to the table legs. She is naked. The man behind her is landing blow after blow on her plump bottom as she struggles uselessly. Finally he stops; she catches her breath; and he pushes a lubed finger into her ass, absolutely ignoring her copiously dripping pussy. She's completely open before him and powerless to do anything, but doesn't seem to find that a bad thing at all, if the sounds she's making are anything to go by. She moans and gasps as he preps her, and when he finally rams his hard cock into her...

You throw your head back and come.

When your regain rational thought, you're dimly aware of someone in the sitting room mentioning your name -

"Is Wil almost done in there?? I really need to pee."

Oops...

Filed under: BDSM, Erotica, journal, kinda sorta awk, sex fantasy, spanking, wanking 2 Comments

11May/090

Microfantasy Monday: Tits

via Mina's Musings

She is sitting, naked, on the edge of your bed, arms at her sides, legs pressed modestly together.

You close your cupboard and turn to face her, two scarves in your hand. Wordlessly, you stand directly in front of her and gently put her arms behind her back, twisting a scarf tightly around her wrists and tying a secure knot. You can feel her breath ghosting your collarbone.

You pull back and look at her, careful to look expressionless; nonchalant. Her eyes are fixed on you, full of nervousnessmesmerizedintriguedturned-on. You calmly slip the other scarf around her eyes.

The light from your desk lamp is dim and paints the room in deep orange.

"Don't make a sound," you tell her quietly, evenly, as you weigh her heavy breasts in your hands, first one, then the other. She bites her lip, squirms, but stays silent, even when you tease her nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they're hard points.

Then you reach over to the windowsill and pick up a pair of clamps. You fasten one, then the other, and she's holding back sounds as you slowly do this, until you let the chain that connects them drop, and she has two pretty, glinting pieces of steel decorating her ample, thrust-out chest.

You're surprised, and somewhat proud of her - she hasn't made any noises yet. Well that is going to change, for sure. You gently cup her breasts, run your fingers over them until you reach the tips of the clamps, and flick one. A wince, but no sound. You smile and pick up the chain, yanking.

She squeals then. She looks absolutely delicious. You desperately want to let go and kiss her, but not yet.
"Tsk," you say. "I told you not to make a sound."

The small tea-light that has been sitting on your desk for a while now is now quite full of melted wax. You pick one up, carefully and hold it in front of you.

"Do you know what's going to happen now?" you ask her.

She shakes her head. You smile again. Sticking to the rules won't help now, but it's a lovely gesture.

You let the wax drip over her chest. She gasps. The whiteness rolls down to her cleavage and turns the surrounding skin a pretty red color.

You can't help yourself. After putting the candle down, you finally give in, pull her towards you and kiss her hard.

Filed under: BDSM, Domme, Erotica, Queer, fiction, sex fantasy No Comments

5May/093

Microfantasy Monday: Silence

I liked 2-weeks-ago's theme better so I'm going to be a deviant and go with that one - silence.

When his fingers enter you, he's rough and abrupt. You start to squeal because you didn't expect it - he'd barely even gotten your pants down - but his other hand clamps over your mouth. Hard.

"Mmmpff--"

He's shoved against your back, and you're face to face with a copy of Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. You're in a particularly unused corner of the library stacks, but still. No noise here. No telling how many students are hidden against the walls, hunched over piles of research, just looking for a distraction. The air around you is tense; compressed.

You close your eyes and bite on his fingers slightly when a third, then fourth, finger enters your copiously dripping cunt, and his hand starts rocking into you...

Filed under: Erotica, Microfantasy Monday, exhibitionism & voyeurism, fiction, sex, sex fantasy, sex in odd places 3 Comments

31Mar/09Off

Microfantasy Monday: Long Distance

Wow. It's been a while. Coming back with a theme I like a lot though - long distance.

You're clutching the dildo in one hand. The phone in the other. The one is slipping in and out of you, and the other is almost slipping from your grasp. You hold onto it, wedging it into your shoulder and pushing it close to your ear.

On the other end of the line is panting. Rough, harsh breaths. In-out.

The two of you were having a normal enough conversation until you let slip that you were lounging around in your underwear, something about the heat, and he teasingly asked you what kind you had on, and you told him. Cotton. Floral. Cute. From Victoria's Secret.

And the one short answer turned into a long spiel of how your body sprawled over the bed, how your lightly sweaty limbs were positioned. You traced a hand over yourself and let him follow it, from your hips, down to the dip in your waist to your chest to your hair.

He groaned. Talked you into putting your hand inside your panties. Practically guided your fingers inside you with his voice. In no time at all, you were both panting and thrusting in a chorus that was stretched over 600 miles. Spouting nonsense words:

"God!"

"Your pussy--"

"You feel --"

"s'so good--"

"amazing..."

He insinuates your other hand into your bra and pulls the dildo out of your drawer and tells you to imagine him. Imagine it's him doing all this to you.

You do. And then a few seconds of ragged breath - and you come. And the phone skitters, clatters, to the floor.

Got a sex fantasy? Microfantasy Monday is by Sweltering Celt and rules can be found here.

Filed under: Christopher, Erotica, Microfantasy Monday, fiction, long distance, sex fantasy, wanking Comments Off

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Wilhelmina Wang. Queer, female college student with her mind lodged firmly in the gutter, seeking genderbenders, lessons in BDSM, a meaningful fuck, and a point in life.

Here's where her mind is spilled like the proverbial guts.

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